by Jett Abbott
Remembering Clarissa though was another gentle reminder of her past life. It was Paris in the eighteen hundreds and A.J. was rich, beautiful, and independent. It was a time when women were like children, never meant to be seen or heard from, unless their husbands gave them permission to do so. Clarissa, on the other hand, was young, beautiful, and single. She had a fire in her that A.J. loved, and it was what drew her to Clarissa immediately when they had met. The role A.J. played at that time was the one of a rich, widowed woman who loved to travel and had estates in several countries.
For as long as A.J. could remember, she always knew she was a lesbian. She never fell in love with men. It just wasn’t who she was. She liked to play with women, and she played a lot. She just didn’t play in her own backyard. That could be dangerous. She also had a rule and that rule was simple, she didn’t feed where she played. She could feed on a lover and she could turn them. She just didn’t end their lives, she loved them too much.
A.J. worked hard at constructing what would be seen as a normal life for a woman back then. She was seen with men so often that no one would have guessed she disliked them. She had never slept with them and she hadn’t dated them longer than a few months. She had traveled and enjoyed what life had to offer. She had more than her share of closeted lovers, too. It wasn’t hard to find women who liked other women, actually. Parisian men had their own lives and vices and that often left lonely, horny women at home, a situation she found ways to take advantage of. Befriending a wife was easy. She often met them at social engagements where they would become friends. They would go to lunch or meet for tea, talking about what beasts men were, how they violated their wives or had affairs and there she was to comfort the poor things.
She tended to her own affairs, took care of estate business and lived much like a man did. She even opted for wearing men’s clothes when she was home. She liked working her estates and primarily loved working the grounds, a fete most of her staff admired, especially when she shared small talk about their families or ate a meal with them. She had hated those who treated their staff like slaves, ordering them around, paying them meager wages and rarely giving them time off to raise their families, let alone see them. She had learned at a young age that if you wanted respect you needed to give it. If you wanted loyalty you needed to earn it. She still missed her father’s guidance and wished he had lived long enough to see how she had succeeded.
Back in the present, the ride through the city was quiet and calming, the night finally cooling. The streets were barren and lifeless as she made her way to the parking garage of her apartment complex. She hated the city, actually. It made her feel dirty and hopeless. The high-rise cement skeletons that made up the living spaces for the inhabitants reminded her of crypts. Only these crypts were filled with people who paid five bucks for coffee and yet walked past a homeless man and offered only scorn for his condition. She had chosen to live close to work so she didn’t have the long commute every day, but it was beginning to wear on her. A.J. thought she had seen it all, but lately, humanity was showing how low it could really sink into the abyss. The senseless gang shootings, the drugs, and now the Middle East war that seemed to go on forever. It was beginning to make her wonder why she had chosen to stop feeding on humanity. And she was the evil everyone in the world worried about? Please, one less scumbag in the world, who would notice?
Her life had become a series of patterns. Lonely, lifeless patterns that repeated themselves every fifty or so years. However, tonight that pattern had shifted, skewed because of one woman. She thought about Clarissa again as she dropped the kickstand down for the third time that night. Walking to the elevator she stopped, inserted her key and punched the button for the penthouse. She stood listening to the hum of the elevator waiting to be lifted to her sanctuary. She wondered what had happened to Clarissa since she’d last seen her. How had she survived? Did she have someone in her life now? Where did she work? What was her name? More questions than she could give attention to swirled in her head as she watched the doors, waiting for them to open up and swallow her inside. She felt herself become dizzy and reached for the cold wall, one knee buckling slightly as she swayed towards the support. What was wrong with her? She had seen unspeakable tragedy. Created unspeakable tragedy in her life and now, the mere thought of Clarissa was making her light headed.
Entering her apartment and tossing her keys in the tray by the door, she looked around and wondered what Clarissa would think of her place. It was functional, yet sterile. It had the dark wood tones of mahogany and soft accent lights that displayed a few token art pieces she kept for entertainment sake. She didn’t entertain often, but when she did, she wanted her apartment to be serviceable. Walking to the bar, she poured a triple malted scotch. She had acquired the taste decades ago. Its soft oak undertones and smooth taste warmed her, if you could call it that. It was amazing what time and evolving had done for her. She had learned to enjoy the sun again, slowly. It had taken decades, and sunlight-reproducing lamps, to get her accustomed to small doses of the warming rays. She often thought of herself as a snake, coveting the short-lived warmth of the sun on her skin, but instantly becoming cold when it was gone. Now, she could live outside with little damage to herself. She wouldn’t be living in the Bahamas anytime soon, but she could survive in the areas where coastal fog was more of a companion than the sun.
Walking to the length of windows along the southern wall, she looked out over the dimly lit city and scanned it. She watched for seekers, vampires that preyed on unfortunate individuals who were careless as they strayed out at night. There was little she could do for those unfortunate individuals once they were caught, but she prayed for them none-the-less. Seekers had no honor. They lived, no survived, on the pain of others and made no apologies for it. If she hadn’t had the breaks she had, would she have ended up a seeker? She didn’t dwell on it, but she did wonder. She had heard that seekers’ numbers were dwindling. They were becoming a part of the shifting tide of the underworld. Like any other group, seekers hung out in gangs, and what happens when gangs collide? Violence. They dealt drugs, they hustled, they survived on the pain of others, and then they killed them. However, they hadn’t counted on human gangs being so virulent, so violent. Times had changed from the days when people didn’t venture out at night. Today’s gangs lived in the cover of darkness and so did seekers. Too many people battling for the same turf meant one thing - only one would survive. And right now the odds were even. However, that wasn’t A.J.’s world. It would never be her world.
Chapter Five
“Purrrrrrr.”
Clarissa slowly released a long sigh arching her back and stretching out from beneath the blankets. The warmth of the blankets made her purr like a kitten being stroked by its owner. She loved her heated blanket. It almost made her feel like she was alive again, the warmth seeping into her bones.
“Come here, Nefertiti.” Reaching out, she felt the soft fur glide across her palm. “Come here sweetie, mommy wants to pet you.”
Squeezing the black cat, she purred back, “Where were you last night when I got home? I missed you, silly girl.”
Clarissa closed her eyes and rubbed the side of her face along the soft fur.
“I was worried.”
Picking up the purring engine, she looked into the slanted green eyes. When she first saw Nefertiti, there was an instant connection between the two. Looking into her eyes now, she wondered if the cat could sense something was off last night and had decided to beat it.
“You’re not a dummy, are you Nef?” Pulling the cat into her, she began the morning ritual of cat cuddling, as she liked to call it. Nefertiti tolerated her owner’s need to cuddle and Clarissa tolerated Nefertiti’s need to bring dead animals to the door. Gifts, she told herself. They were always warm, and that was a bit offsetting to Clarissa. Did Nefertiti know what she was?
“No, of course you don’t. You’re just a cat. Right?”
Continuing the ritual, Clarissa laid b
ack and smiled. If only she could find someone to wake her up like this, she would be in heaven.
She lay there stroking the now sleeping feline as she thought about her life. Looking back, her life had changed so quickly when she left England and came to the U.S. But even more dramatic was the change her life took when she left France, De Marcus had made it clear that she was to do exactly as she was told. He informed her that as her only source of protection, she needed him for everything. Her very survival depended on him and only him. She was bound to him, forever. Clarissa had no choice but to follow him. The rules of the Coven were clear back then. The vampire who turned you owned you, period. Only death changed the order. And since a slave never laid a hand on their master, it was rare that one died without help.
She had been smart and created a life around education. It was easy to get lost in the stacks of books that it took to do research. She loved learning. It challenged her when everything else seemed to fail her. So, she reverted back to those experiences she found comfort in. European literature was an easy choice as well. It didn’t change, it was familiar and it was home, so to speak.
The sun began to peek through a crack in the drawn curtains. She shielded her eyes with an arm. It always took her some time to get accustomed to the brightness, but she had slowly conditioned her body to the transition through the decades. Her eyes still stung occasionally from the exposure, but she found if she wore the darkest shades she could find it was tolerable. Resting her head in her palm, she scanned her room, looking at the remnants of a very long life. Was it time to rid herself of a few mementos from her past? Was that why she had thought of Alexandra the night before? Looking around, her eyes paused on her jewelry box. It had been a gift from Alexandra. It still played the soft melody that often took her back to that past. A past she hadn’t thought of in years, no decades. Except, on those rare once-in-a-blue-moon times when she would wind the jewelry box on a whim and would listen to the minuet it played.
Clarissa had thought about looking Alexandra up after De Marcus died, but De Marcus had told her Alexandra had killed her family. Clarissa knew if she sought her out it would be for revenge. Besides, the rules were clear and her fate had been sealed with one kiss. He ruled her with an iron fist. He had brought her over and she was his to do with as he pleased. Those were the rules of vampires and of the Coven. You owed your very existence to the one who turned you. Until they released you, you were theirs.
She had resigned herself to her life and waited. Lucky for her, De Marcus was always into a new woman every few months. This time it had been his undoing. He had decided to have a tryst with a barmaid from the local pub that night. Sneaking her into a nearby barn, they had climbed up into the hayloft to have sex. While in the throes of passion, De Marcus slipped out of the loft and onto a combine blade. The blade piercing his heart, he died instantly, leaving the poor girl in a panic. She ran screaming from the barn and straight into the path of a local patron of the bar, who was stumbling home that night. Together they had gone back into the barn, only to find De Marcus truly dead. Fate had been on her side when he died.
Clarissa had found out the next day, when the constable had knocked on her door to inform her of her husband’s death.
“Mrs. De Marcus,” he started. “I am afraid I have some rather bad news for you this morning.”
“Please come in, Constable Johns.” Clarissa ushered the police officer in, quickly shutting the door behind him to keep the sun out. “May I get you some tea?”
“No, thank you.” Looking rather nervous, Constable Johns continued, “I am sorry I have to tell you this, but we found Mr. De Marcus dead early this morning.”
Casting his eyes down, he continued, “It seems the Mister was a…” Now visibly distressed at what he had to say to Clarissa, he cleared his throat and continued. “Um, well it seems, he had a dalliance in the hayloft at old man Rogers’ place. Fell out of the loft and landed on the combine,” he said, tugging on his collar. “He a…he was killed instantly.”
“I’m sorry, did you just say my husband is dead?” Clarissa stumbled back against the kitchen table.
“Oh, I’m so sorry Mrs. De Marcus. I…” Constable Johns reached forward and steadied Clarissa.
“And the woman he was with, is she dead too?” Clarissa wasn’t sure how she should act. She didn’t want to see an innocent woman hurt because of her husband.
“No, no, she’s fine. Seems he slipped out backwards and just took himself down. Lucky for her.”
It was clear the conversation was taxing on the poor constable and Clarissa didn’t want to prolong his agony any longer.
“Well, I don’t know what to say, Constable. I never suspected he would do something like that.” Lying, she turned to cover her face just in case the constable was watching.
“Can you tell me what the next steps are? I mean, where is my husband’s body? I need to make arrangements for his burial.”
“Well, that’s the strangest thing. Seems Mr. De Marcus’s body has gone missing. I mean, well, we went back with the mortician to pick him up and there was nothing there but his jacket and some ash. I called my captain and he’s searching the barn again. For right now, we can’t seem to find him.”
“I see.”
“I am sorry, Mrs. De Marcus. A respectable woman like yourself deserved better.” Turning and reaching for the door he continued, “If there’s anything we can do, please let me and the wife know.”
“Thank you, Constable Johns. I appreciate the offer.”
Feigning a show of her sudden loss, she dabbed at her eyes and sniffled. “If you’ll excuse me, Sir, I think I need to lie down. I am starting to feel as though I might faint. Could you show yourself out please, Constable?”
“Oh, of course, Mrs. De Marcus. I’ll have my wife stop by later and check in on you. Again, my deepest condolences on your loss. When we find Mr. De Marcus, I will send an officer over and let you know.”
Tipping his hat in her direction, he quickly closed the door behind him. Clarissa was sure he was happy to be done with the messy business De Marcus had created.
As quickly as it had started, it had ended. Her service to De Marcus was over. Clarissa was a free woman, so to speak. She no longer had to submit to anyone. She was free to roam and live as she wanted. She was lucky he had made such a show of marrying her, or she would have been left penniless. No, fate had been on her side when De Marcus died. As her life changed so did Clarissa. Changing her name to a more common English name like Graham helped her fit into her new life better. Shedding the De Marcus name had been like a cleansing, both physically and mentally. Clarissa stroked Nefertiti and slid back into the present. Glancing over at the clock, she realized she was going to be late for her lecture if she didn’t hurry.
###
A.J. tossed aside the covers, swinging her long legs off the bed. Taking a deep breath, she twisted her head to release the kinks that always seemed to develop when she had trouble sleeping. It was a rare night when A.J. tossed and turned. It was usually the condition of a young woman sleeping in her bed. This time she knew the reason, Clarissa.
Trying to rub the creases out of her forehead, she sat and waited for the headache to ease. She had thought about Clarissa all night. She briefly contemplated a drive out to Clarissa’s house, but then what? A knock on the door? A peek into a window? She had enough control over herself to abandon any ideas of stalking the poor woman. However, she couldn’t get Clarissa out of her mind.
Slowly standing, A.J. walked to the velvet curtains and paused as she stroked them. The softness reminded her of her home in France. She hadn’t thought about France in years and now, all she could think about was that time, decades ago, when she first met Clarissa. Sliding one side open, she squinted her eyes as she adjusted to the brightness. She arched her neck back as she felt the warmth envelop her. The sunlight gently warmed her breasts as she moved closer to the shear panels that covered the long expanse of glass. Pressing her naked body a
gainst the warmth, she shuddered and felt her nipples tighten. Something about the sun energized her. It was almost as if she was flirting with death when she was out in it. It hadn’t been that long ago that a mere sliver of sunlight would have been her undoing. Now, she basked in its warmth like a snake lying in the middle of the road at night, soaking up the last bit of warmth. It was a guilty pleasure she relished. She knew of only a few like her with this ability. The research she paid for made it possible for her to enjoy the sun, and she did as often as her job allowed. A.J. was shaken out of her daydream when the phone rang.
“Hello.” A.J. turned and made her way to the bathroom.
“A.J., I wanted to let you know I have a line on that license plate you texted me last night.”
Kevin was one of her most trusted friends and employees at her company. They had transitioned at relatively the same time, meeting by accident one night over ‘dinner’. They had spotted the same man in a back alley in France and pounced on him at the same time. If it had been a fight, A.J. was sure she could have taken the lanky man, but he had been a gentleman and retreated to the shadows. She had not killed the poor man in the alley, but had offered Kevin a fair share of him. Since then, they had been quick and deadly friends. At some point though, she had outreached Kevin in drive and motivation. Kevin was happy to play second mate to her captain, going along for the ride. They had parted ways three decades back, when A.J. had decided that killing was no longer her forte. Kevin, on the other hand, wasn’t ready to give up the vampire lifestyle. He had wandered back into her life eighteen years ago by accident. He had answered an ad her company had placed in the trade papers for a hemoglobin researcher. Seems Kevin had worked for a foreign company as a researcher of some type. He had landed back stateside when the company expanded its operation and then left it when they couldn’t compete in the U.S. market.
