by Tanith Frost
He wouldn’t. But as my trainer, he could. That’s not attractive, no matter how nice he is to look at. Or it shouldn’t be.
I look away, back toward the street.
“We’re needed in town,” he says, watching as we continue to laze on the shingles. “Though it doesn’t look like either of you are ready for your first assignment.”
We’re both on our feet before the last word is out of his mouth. Trixie spits her wad of gum in a graceful arc over the edge of the roof. “What is it?” she asks, and now she sounds attentive. Eager.
We’ve been waiting for this. Responsibility. A chance to prove ourselves worthy of complete freedom, to make our mark and find our places within Maelstrom, the clan we’ve sworn loyalty to.
My stomach knots, but I don’t let it show on my face.
“I told Miranda weeks ago that you’re ready. She needs me to return to my old position for a time, and she requested that I bring you to the club tonight so she can meet you and judge for herself.”
My mouth dries up. I’m sure I imagined the emphasis on the word judge, but there it is. Another chance to fail.
I won’t. I am ready.
Daniel rakes his hand through his unruly hair again. “Get in the car. I’m taking you home.” He turns away, but pauses midstep. “And ladies? If you disappoint me, your young, dead asses are mine. You will not embarrass me tonight. Understood?”
Trixie grins at me and lets out a restrained squeal. I bounce on the toes of my boots, allowing excitement to grow in me for the first time since I can remember.
He thinks we’re ready. Both of us, not just Trixie. The past year of training is about to pay off. We’re going to take our places. Learn the secrets of vampire life that have been forbidden until we proved ourselves worthy. Earn our keep, move up in the clan.
I haven’t had a choice about being a vampire. Not since someone chose to turn me after my unfortunate and early death. Accepting my fate has been hard. This is my chance to embrace it, once and for all.
“So what’s the assignment?” Trixie asks.
Daniel looks back. “Rogues.” He disappears off the edge of the roof without another word.
As if one were needed.
My newfound energy seems to flow back out through the flat soles of my boots, leaving me empty and weak-kneed. Trixie glances at me, chewing her lip. “On our first assignment?” she whispers.
We’ve always known that Daniel used to hunt rogue vampires— those who continued in the old ways instead of feeding on approved stock. Killers. Monsters who threatened to expose our existence with every unwilling body they left behind. But they haven’t been around for so long. Not here, anyway.
“Are you two coming or not?” Daniel doesn’t have to yell. We’re listening. We hear. “Your choice. If you’re ready, that is.”
His black beast of a car roars to life just down the street.
We hesitate for a second, then Trixie flashes her fangs in a wide grin and grabs my hand.
We hit the ground running.
2
Even at the speeds Daniel drives, it takes us five hours to get back to St. John’s.
The glow of the city appears long before we can see the buildings themselves. Intense light pollution for such a small city, but this place is full of contradictions.
At times it feels like a small town, especially when I walk the streets of downtown late at night, peering in the windows of shops selling hand-knitted wool mittens, non-fiction and local interest books, and partridgeberry jam made in-province. It’s unashamed of its age, flaunting its history up and down the streets that hug the harbour. There’s a historical plaque on every corner, I’d swear to it. The sidewalks are shadowed by towering churches built in a neo-gothic style that’s technically a copycat of European cathedrals, but they’re so old themselves that it doesn’t seem to matter.
Those are the parts of the city that make me wish I’d discovered it when I was alive. When I could enter those churches, when I could visit those shops and speak with the owners. When it was okay for me to be interested in humanity.
The rest of it—the new parts, the shiny parts, the parts built on oil money after the cod fishery collapsed—are the bits I care less for, and sadly, we’re heading right through them. We’ve taken an unfamiliar route tonight due to construction, one that takes us up through the newest of the new shopping districts. Bright neon advertising signs. The empty hulk of an American department store that existed in Canada for about five minutes.
We pass a group of young people exiting one of the fancy coffee shops that mirror each other on either side of the road. The women wear high boots with precarious looking heels. The men laugh, and one punches another on the arm.
So little has changed since I died, yet I feel more of a connection with the old parts of this city than the new. Maybe it’s the creeping understanding that these people walking the streets are blips, momentary inhabitants who aren’t likely to have a lasting impact on their world. Trixie and Daniel and I… we will become as ancient as this city herself if we play our cards right.
And tonight, I reflect as we turn onto Torbay Road and shoot toward downtown, we might play a small part in saving those blips.
I’m trying to focus on that instead of the meeting that lies in my immediate future. Miranda. I’ve never met her, but I’ve heard stories about her. She’s not the oldest vampire around, but she’s ancient and active enough to be called a true elder, the most powerful one in our clan. She’s seen centuries pass, seen younger vampires come and go. She was instrumental in the creation of the society most vampires now live in and the rules we all adhere to in spite of the differences between clans.
We pledged loyalty to Maelstrom, but that was the same as offering it to Miranda. If we had a queen, she would be it.
And she wishes to judge me on what seems to me a rather shaky record.
I feel ill.
Trixie leans forward. “Are we there yet?”
No one answers.
Trixie’s been exiled to the backseat ever since she took Daniel’s old GTO out for a midnight joyride after a particularly good feeding and totalled it. The Challenger is a fine replacement as far as I’m concerned, but Daniel still seems bitter. Though technically her sentence is up, I think she sticks to the back in the interest of self-preservation.
Smart girl.
We leave the glow of the upper city behind and enter the tree-shadowed streets of downtown. My mouth waters at the thought of the club being just minutes away. My hunger’s actually a welcome distraction now, and it’s all I can do not to bolt from the car when Daniel parks. I leave my jacket and scarf behind. We’ll be warm and comfortable soon enough.
The Inferno is the best-kept secret in St. John’s. The owner’s name is Dante. He thinks the club’s name is terribly clever, but otherwise he isn’t a bad guy. Human, of course. Present during the day, paying taxes on the meagre income he declares. Everything is aboveboard at this little hole-in-the-wall bar nestled in a dark downtown alley, at least as far as the living are concerned.
The battered, graffiti-covered door looks like it should creak when Daniel leans his forearm against it and pushes, but it swings open on silent hinges. The room beyond is dim, lit by electric lights shaded in red glass to cut the glare. I tuck the arm of my sunglasses, which I had been wearing to shield against the bright streetlights uptown, into the low-cut V of my top. Daniel slips his into his pocket, looks back to make sure Trixie and I are following, then steps briskly toward the bartender.
No living humans have wandered in to the bar tonight. Every one of the rickety moisture-stained tables is unoccupied, just as they should be. No need to act casual.
The rules still stand, though.
“Get you something?” the bartender asks. Dante’s not working, but this one looks familiar. It’s almost scary how alike they’re all starting to look to me, these interchangeable bartenders in their white shirts and dark vests, standing there polishing thei
r martini glasses and looking like something out of an old movie.
“Is she in?”
Daniel is testing him, but the bartender—a living human—doesn’t break a sweat under that cold stare. I step closer and lean on the bar.
“Not sure what you mean,” the bartender says, setting the clean glass down and picking up another that doesn’t really need polishing. It’s a rare night that a single drink gets poured up here. The Inferno’s reputation among the living is one star at best.
Daniel grins, and his elongated canine teeth reflect the dim light. “Good thing you don’t. I’ll have something warm. And red.”
Not that there’s any doubt about what Daniel is, but the password is protocol. Everything is regimented. It wasn’t always this way. Vampires once lived (or rather, didn’t live) in solitude, responsible for managing their own territories. But after the hunts and purges centuries ago that nearly annihilated our population, they began to understand the need for unity, for a new way of existing that would allow us to remain secret.
I still don’t know half of what it all means. But I’ll learn. I already know more than this guy, who probably feels important up here, guarding the door.
The human bartender holds Daniel’s gaze for a moment, then reaches under the bar to flip a switch. Daniel turns away without acknowledging the action and pushes through a crimson velvet curtain to our right. Trixie pauses to wink at the bartender and run her tongue over her fangs, and I hang back, enjoying his valiant attempt to appear disinterested.
The living can be so much fun.
A low growl from Daniel sends us scurrying after him down a tight spiral staircase. It’s nearly pitch black in here, but that’s not a problem for us.
It feels like descending into a grave.
It feels like coming home.
I still find it hard to label some of my feelings now that I lack some of the automatic physical sensations that come with them. When I lived, I assumed that my body responded to my feelings. Now, I’m not sure. I can’t read myself anymore. I know I’m nervous now, but without a racing heartbeat to confirm it, it feels less real.
I suppose it’s natural to be nervous at a time like this, but there’s not much that’s natural about me anymore.
There are times when my human life seems like ancient history. When I realize that all of the songs I like came out before I died, or when I feel like smacking teenagers in books for bitching about petty adolescent problems that matter so little in the grander scheme of life and death. Or when I’m feeding, feeling the strength and power of human blood coursing through me like I’ve tapped into the very essence of life itself. I’ve only been a vampire for a few years, but in those moments I can almost forget I was once one of them.
Other times, like tonight, I’m terribly aware of how new I am. How fragile and untested, how isolated I’ve been during my year of training and my adjustment period before that. Even Daniel, who’s been dead since before my grandparents were born, who’s quickly recognized by the bouncer lurking at the bottom of the stairs and nodded through another curtain… even he’s relatively new. Not even a century dead.
The bouncer, a massive fellow with skin and clothing so dark he could be the night itself, narrows his pale golden eyes at me and Trixie as we pass by after Daniel. Evaluating. Those eyes would have been brown when he lived, but they’ve paled with death. He’s new, too. They’ll get darker as he ages.
I know the foggy grey of my eyes gives my own youth away. Wisps of cloud, Trixie called them when we met, her pale emerald irises sparkling with her impish grin. What would I have done without her humour to pull me out of my post-death melancholy? I doubt I’d have survived the recovery facility.
I was a hard case right from the start, no question. It’s a wonder Daniel took me on.
It’s still dark beyond the curtain, but brighter than the stairwell, lit with dim incandescent bulbs under coloured shades. It’s comfortable for both vampires and the humans who mill about, drinks in hand. Watching. Posing. Flirting. Low, hypnotic music hums through hidden speakers. Vampires approach the bar, making careful selections and swiping payment cards as the living watch with barely concealed interest.
The volume of stock here tonight confuses me until I remember that tomorrow is a holiday. They’re all squeezing one last thrill into their long weekend, knowing they’ll feel a bit drained and sluggish tomorrow. They stand in small groups, laughing, swaying to the music.
Daniel motions for me to wait, then takes Trixie through a door that blends almost seamlessly into the wall. I’m fine with him taking her to Miranda first.
I need to get rid of my nerves, but it’s hard to calm myself when controlling my breath isn’t an option. Instead I hug the wall and watch the crowd.
A copper-skinned male vampire I don’t know personally but have seen around the club before approaches a blonde woman. She’s middle-aged and fit, wearing a miniskirt and a top that shows off her toned stomach. We don’t really care about what they wear, but they do like to show off for each other. To make it a special occasion.
Bless them.
What’s caught his attention, I suspect, is not her towering heels or long legs, but the blood-red ribbon she’s tied around her neck with a jaunty bow at the back, accenting her most appealing feature. The vampire takes her hand and whispers something into her ear. She giggles and nods, then tilts her head to one side. Questioning.
He produces a clear vial filled with bright yellow liquid, purchased from our end of the bar. She studies it, bites her lip, then nods again, more eagerly. There’s nothing coy about this one. There rarely is when we offer the good stuff. He empties the vial into her wine glass, and she swirls it into the drink.
She’s done this before. The new ones are always uncertain and sloppy.
My mouth waters again. Many of the other humans look on, some smiling, some clearly envious. The blonde finishes her wine in one gulp, and a grin spreads slowly across her face. Her teeth are terrible, her face careworn, but the joy that radiates from her makes her a thing of true beauty. She laughs and leans on her temporary master’s arm as he leads her to an alcove and closes the curtains.
That little transaction took less than a minute, but he’ll have as much time as he wants to enjoy her in private. It will be good for her. The vials, each filled with a drug designed to induce a specific emotion in our stock humans, are a lovely draw for them, and offer a customized experience for us. But that’s not what keeps them coming back. Our venom does that. Mildly intoxicating, entirely addictive.
They don’t stand much chance of not returning. Not if we want them to.
As the minutes pass, I grow less nervous about my meeting and more concerned about my dwindling options for feeding. It’s early yet, but I’d like to get on with it before all that’s left are the used-up humans who come too frequently. Dull. Lifeless. I need something strong tonight if I’m to be at my best.
“Aviva?”
Daniel has reappeared. I glance around for Trixie. There. She’s already got a vial in her hand, but it’s no bright yellow serum. The vial is clear, but the liquid within is dark and cloudy, swirling with black flecks. Just looking at it gives me chills.
I don’t understand why we’d want the stock to feel fear or sadness before we feed. I can’t imagine it would be fortifying in and of itself. And carrying a black vial ensures that the dregs are all we get, unless someone newer is feeling truly adventurous. The used-up ones are desperate enough to subject themselves to any pain just to get their fix.
I silently wish Trixie luck and follow Daniel toward the same door he took Trixie through. He turns back and gives me a look like he wants to say something, but he decides against it, and his expression clears as he opens the door for me.
I wonder what happens if I don’t pass inspection. It’s too late to ask now, and I wouldn’t even if I could.
Save face. Look calm.
I try not to let my boots clomp as Daniel leads me to whatever
awaits behind the door at the end of the long hallway.
3
I’ve never gone this deep before.
The rooms that line this hallway are used for purposes I haven’t been introduced to. Meetings. Deciding of fates. God knows what else.
Daniel pauses outside the door at the end and knocks. Its whiteness stands in stark contrast with the dark walls and the dark paint on the other doors. There’s no nameplate. Miranda doesn’t need one.
I’ve never met her, yet I feel the chill of her presence as we approach. She’s not hiding herself from me.
I wonder whether she knows how intimidating that is.
Though there’s no answer from inside the room, Daniel opens the door and stands aside. I glance up at him, but his face remains blank as I enter. No encouragement. No slap on the ass and try your best. I’m on my own.
Elegant is the first word that comes to mind when I enter the room. It’s not comfortable, but it’s less grim than I expected from an elder. I’d heard that older vampires all slept in coffins and preferred the haunted mansion aesthetic, but this room is… I can’t place it. A Victorian flavour with a dash of Wild West brothel thrown in for good measure, all dark wood, overstuffed chairs, ruffles, and a little more lace than seems proper. But I like it. Or I would if I wasn’t fucking terrified.
I turn my head slowly toward the corner, toward the source of the undeniable power that’s prickling over my skin like electricity.
Miranda.
She’s far more interesting than the room’s contents. Tall and pale, wearing a floor-length white dress with lace trim that comes up high at the front and low at her wrists. Her midnight hair is swept up in an intricate twist at the back of her head, revealing a graceful neck that’s arched like the stem of a lily as she looks down at the leather file folder in her hand.
It’s all paperwork for us. Electronic screens are too bothersome for our sensitive eyes. More than that, this is how it’s always been done. Tradition is everything.
