by E. C. Hibbs
I heard the distant sound of a chorus of voices, and the autumn night sent a cool bite against my skin. There was the smell of burning torches; the mass of a crowd pressing on me from all sides as I struggled to stay on my feet. A hand snatched my shoulder, restraining me where I stood.
“Nem, Éva! Stay here! Stay here with me!”
Then the passionate singing transformed to screams, and I was spun away, the hot scent of fresh blood tearing the air. I looked up, expecting to see Zíta, but was shocked to instead find a tall dark-haired figure, silhouetted against the moon. Two incredible bat wings reared above his head as he held me close.
“Angel,” I gasped, feeling myself smiling with relief. “My angel!”
“No,” he said.
I blinked, and in that moment, the hair became strawberry blonde; the face bonier, until it was none other than James in front of me. The wings came down around us, cutting us off from the commotion of noise and carnage.
“Trust me,” he whispered.
My eyes flew open. Dark green material hung horizontally, inches from my nose. It looked like the canopy over the top of my bed.
I frowned, reaching out and tapping it, to make sure it was really there. When it brushed against my fingertips, I suddenly noticed that I couldn’t feel my weight on the sheets.
I looked over my shoulder to see my hair and skirt hanging straight underneath me. And the mattress was five feet below my body.
Shock fired through me. My muscles tightened and I flailed in the air, going to grab hold of the canopy. Then I plunged, landing on my back. I bounced for a second before scrambling onto the floor, Mirriam still tight in my elbow.
I stared at where I’d been floating. My eyes slowly crept to my hands, before shooting to the window. I opened the curtains just a little, straining against the sharp light, and noted that the latch was still firmly in position. Nobody was in the room except for me.
I staggered backwards, grabbing hold of one of the bedposts. I looked at the mirror above the washbasin. My face was gaunt; skin beneath my eyes heavily bruised, and cheeks pallid as marble. The sight of myself made my hair stand on end. I looked like a different person. And although my irises were still blue, my pupils were much larger than I knew they should be in brightness like this.
What was happening to me? I held my hands to my mouth, frightened tears beginning to form. What would happen if anybody found out about this? Christine had already warned me that I could be taken away, claimed mad. But what about the other danger that I’d been warned of? Not to myself, but to those around me? I couldn’t deny how I had craved Benjamin this afternoon; imagined the idea of bringing my teeth into his arm to let his blood down my searing throat.
Then I suddenly recalled something else. My dream mingled with the moment I awoke after the Izcacus attack in the forest, and Zíta’s question about the shape of my angel’s wings. They were not of a bird: feathered and fine; but skeletal and leathery like a bat’s – exactly the same as James’s. And the same as others from an even older memory: that of the Lidérc vampires driven across the border. The first dark ones I ever saw.
For a moment, I forgot to breathe, and felt the floor appear under my knees as I slid down the post. I held the image of my rescuer in my mind: kneeling at my side in the Hattyúpatak forest, one freezing hand by my ravaged neck.
He was not an angel as I’d believed. All this time, I had been saved by another demon.
CHAPTER XII
I didn’t leave my room the rest of the evening, prompting Norman to come up with a large tray holding my dinner. He sat with me for a while, briefly checking my temperature, before promising to fetch a physician the next day. He squeezed my hand in comfort, propping me up further on the pillows before leaving me be.
Christine checked on me periodically, bringing cups of tea and the occasional biscuit. Finding me awake in the early hours when she made her rounds to stoke the fires, she went to open the curtains, but I quickly reached out a hand to stop her.
“No, leave them!” I rasped. “Keep them closed.”
“Yes, Miss,” said Christine, her hands still hovering on the heavy drapes. “Would you like me to turn the lamp on, then?”
I shook my head, coughing shallowly. I groped on the nightstand for the cup of water she had filled for me, and drank it all in three huge gulps. It did little to soothe, and I groaned in frustration.
Christine gnawed her lips anxiously and crossed to the washbasin, dampening a cloth and then folding it over my forehead.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” she asked, topping up the glass. “Are you hungry?”
“Not really.”
“Alright. Call me if you need anythin’ at all, Miss.”
I gave her a thin smile; rolled over and tried to sleep. Such a wish proved futile however, so I passed the time by simply keeping my eyes closed and focusing on the feeling of my body heat slowly stealing the coolness from the cloth.
Around midday, the doctor came to see me, followed closely by a concerned Norman. Christine hovered in the doorway for a few minutes before she was summoned to the parlour by Margaret. After declaring that I was running a high fever, the doctor removed a small pole from his bag and ordered me to hold tightly to it. Once the pressure had dilated my veins, he then produced a blade and cut deeply into the flesh of my underarm. I snarled with pain, watching as blood seeped out of the wound and into a bowl he placed beneath me.
“Nem,” I breathed, trying to move away, “Nem, I need it...”
“It will help you, Miss,” the doctor insisted. “We must stop your heart racing like this.”
I gasped, my breath shaking uncontrollably. The sight of the warm red liquid seemed to flick a switch inside me. Even though it was my own, I could barely control the urge to bring the cut to my lips and drink until the awful burning was finally gone. I felt my eyes beginning to turn and hurriedly shut them, half-burying my face in the pillow.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I expressed relief that it was my left arm he was letting from. The Izcacus’s scar was safely concealed beneath the sleeve of my right.
When the bowl was nearly full of blood, I felt the doctor clean and dress the wound he had made, securing it with a length of bandage. Then he took his payment from where Norman had discretely left it on my dresser, gave me a container of smelling salts, and made his leave.
While my grandfather saw him out, Christine changed my topmost blanket to a fresh one, muttering that some blood had accidentally leaked onto the material.
“Miss Éva?” she said in a quiet voice, laying her hand on my shoulder. “Mail came for you today. I think it’s from your cousin.”
I opened my eyes, as alert as I could be. “Where is it? Do you have it?”
“Right ‘ere.” Christine reached into her apron pocket and withdrew an envelope. She smiled at me; then left me alone, taking my untouched cup of tea with her.
I carefully unfolded the letter and a small paper package fell out onto my chest. I glanced at it in surprise before turning to the text itself, desperate to see what Zíta had to say.
12th March, 1895
Dearest Éva,
I dare not beat about the bush with this reply. Upon reading your words, I was struck numb with shock. There is no doubt in my mind that there are other vampires which may exist outside of Hungary, because this is something that my father told me when I was young. As you know, here we have kinds such as the Izcacus and the Lidérc, which are incapable of surviving beyond the borders of their home country, and the same restriction will be imposed on all other kinds throughout the world.
I cannot claim to know what the term is for the dark ones of Britain, or the exact way you would defend yourself. However, you must take precautions against this one which has come to you, and I do know a way in which you may do this. The use of a demon’s true name that they carried in life is more painful and paralysing to them than any kind of attack with blade or bullet. The police officer
will definitely be employing the use of an alias in order to protect this vulnerability. James Hayes is not his real name. I urge you to somehow discover what it is with all haste; then all you need to do is shout it in his presence.
Now, Éva, I am afraid I must confess a truly morbid fear for you. As you know yourself, we do not doubt that the vampire-creature is a very real entity. In every event of them that I know of, they have transformed from somebody who previously led a human life. But I confess that we have no definite knowledge of how new vampires are born. I always presumed that it came about after their death, but it seems that this is not the case after all. What you describe to me would not be happening to you if my first idea was correct. When the Izcacus attacked you, Erik, József and I were of the impression that the wound on the side of your neck was a missed killing movement, intended for the front. But now I suspect that it was, in fact, more sinister work. The Izcacus must have infected you somehow, and transferred whatever causes the change into your own blood.
But I believe that it is not hopeless, my dear! The fact that you are still alive in England, away from Hungary, is a testament to that. I cannot disguise my worry for you, but I am powerless to bring you back to Hattyúpatak. So find enclosed some Hungarian soil from the garden of our house – keeping such a solid piece of your homeland with you may help to slow the transformation, and we can then figure the best way to help you. Keep it on your person at all times.
In regards to your questions about the Final Purge, dear cousin, there is not much more I can tell you which you do not already know. My father drove the demons across the border into Romania, where they were killed by their very nature itself. He was compelled to do this for a very specific reason from when Erik and I were young children. He was away in a nearby village, and our home was invaded by a Lidérc who seduced and then murdered our mother, under the pretence of being her husband come back early. This is the demon that Erik and I saw with our own eyes.
Upon his return, my father killed it, but would not rest until all of them were exorcised from our land. As you know, he did succeed in this mission, except for one. A single vampire managed to escape by luring your dear mother close, and using her as an anchor to pull itself free. It was the direct witnessing of this event which I tried to shield you from. But please rest assured that this is truly all in the past now, and I hope you will not distress yourself over it.
Keep me informed of everything that happens, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem, and I shall endeavour to help you in any way I can. Take care of yourself, Éva, and I will pray for you.
With all my fondest love,
Zíta.
I put down the letter and lay there for a few moments, listening to Norman setting out for his club. I heard the bang of the large front door closing behind him; then I took a sip of water before grasping the package of soil. I didn’t open it, instead staring past it with a faraway look as musings took over my mind.
So my suspicions had been right. James had not lied to me. I was becoming a vampire.
But, for some queer reason, that didn’t scare me as much as I thought it would. Perhaps it was caused by my delirious fever; the irate repulsion that I’d forced to the fore previously did not seem to hold as much of its power.
I felt my idea of the dark ones, twisting and writhing inside my head. There was the old ingrained fear of them; the memory of my mother’s blood raining from the sky; the Izcacus terrorizing me in the woods.
But alongside all that ran my recent marvel, at the power of flight his attack had given me. In that strange blackness he had injected into me, I was granted the means to be something more than a human could ever wish for. Now I was certainly destined for it unless the effects could be reversed, I found myself more intrigued by the creatures than terrified of them.
And I couldn’t forget the fact of what had actually thrown the Izcacus from me in the first place. My dark angel was nothing more than one of their very own, and because of him, I was still alive.
Nevertheless, I knew I couldn’t simply give up. It was not in my being to submit like this to anything. For as long as I was able, I would stand my ground with all the strength I could muster, and never let myself forget that I was Éva Kálvin. Simply Éva, but only Éva, individually mine in every form, and not to be owned or controlled by anybody on this earth.
With that silent declaration, I eased open the little package and carefully fed all of the crumbly brown soil into the centre of my locket. When it was full, I closed the clasp, and fluffed my pillow feebly. My knuckles briefly brushed against the cold barrel of the revolver before I withdrew.
A few hours later, Christine came with a tray of food. It was one of my favourite dinners: roasted pork, but tonight even the smell of it was enough to turn my stomach. On Christine’s insistence, I let her leave it in case I decided to eat later, but I did not take even a single mouthful before it turned cold. When she returned to retrieve the dishes, she offered to bring me something else, but I refused and let her get back to work.
I finally managed to drift off to sleep, but my dreams were fragmented and macabre; I could feel my limbs thrashing in the bed as my own body held me prisoner. I awoke in a clammy sweat when my throat closed, hunching forward and gasping for breath. I forced air into my lungs, trying to ignore the pain as I coughed violently. When I managed to get it under control, I held my hands to my face, struggling with myself in a furious internal battle.
I could hear everything. The dying late-night traffic on the road seemed like a deafening din, and even over that, I could have sworn I picked up the sound of water boiling in the kettle downstairs as evening tea was prepared. Every single fibre in my blanket seemed overwhelmingly detailed; I couldn’t believe how I had missed such invisible patterns before.
I let my eyes open fully, and the entire room turned red. I breathed slowly, and it came out in a long hiss; my lips peeled back on their own accord. Ravenous, I snatched out at the last of my water and drank it as quickly as I could, but it actually made me feel even worse. My frustration snapped and I hurled the glass into the hearth. It shattered across the ashy logs, causing the fire to flare.
I felt something further break inside me. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I needed more. As though sensing it, I rose into the air, hovering there as though I were suspended in the sea.
My eyes narrowed to tunnel-vision; I flung the bedcovers from around my legs and pulled myself across the wall. I undid the latch on the window, letting the panes swing wide. The cool night air swept my hair and I pushed into it, descending into the deserted street. Nervous of being seen, I managed to steer myself into the hedgerow on the other side of the road, using a set of iron railings to drag myself onto the ground.
The euphoria of my power washed through me for a split-second before I noticed a lone well-dressed man walking along the pavement. The leaves around me turned red as my eyes shone greedily. I could hear the roar of arterial blood; practically smell it on the breeze.
I forced myself to wait until he was closer, within touching distance. Then, growling like a famished animal, I lunged, clamping a hand across his mouth. I yanked him backwards into the bushes with a strength I never knew I possessed; then leapt onto his shoulders and brought my mouth around to the front of his throat, biting deep and hard.
Hot liquid instantly spurted over my tongue. It was strong, oddly sweet, and awakened an uncontrollable eagerness. I swallowed, not even pausing to breathe; then it jetted a second time and I drank it down again.
The man struggled, trying to throw me off, but I held fast, unwilling to let go. I sank my teeth further in. It worked: I felt him quickly weakening, and I stayed wrapped around him as he slumped on the grass.
When the flow started to lessen, I began sucking, desperate to get as much as possible. I didn’t even think about what I was consuming. I just knew I needed it desperately; I could not stop.
I felt the man’s pulse slowing; then it ceased to beat comple
tely. Sensing there was no more I could take, I let myself relax, detaching myself from his flesh. Then I hunched over, panting, feeling instantly regenerated. My burning thirst was gone, and the headache practically non-existent.
With a sigh of contentment, I rolled off him and looked down at myself. There were a few droplets splattered on my nightgown, and my fingertips were a little stained, but I found nothing excessive. Wiping my mouth, some redness streaked across the back of my hand, and I quickly licked it off. My eyes stopped glowing, letting me become myself again.
I turned around to make sure I hadn’t left any blood, but then my breath caught once again in my throat. My veins turned to ice in sheer horror.
The body in front of me was my grandfather’s.
There was no mistake. Ignoring the yawning gash in his throat, the distinctive beard covered his chin, the white now stained with scarlet. His blue eyes were still open, as though in faint surprise, and the light of life completely vanished from them.
I cried out, stumbling backwards until my knees gave way. Then I heard a small sigh from behind me.
I spun around, shaking with fright, and immediately saw a figure standing only a short distance away, with curly blonde hair drooping over his ears.
“Silly girl,” James said. “I did try to warn you.”
CHAPTER XIII
I whimpered in terror, overcome with what I had done. Panic ascended and I turned tail, running as fast as I could, desperate to be anywhere but here.
But I had barely made it ten feet before James snatched hold of me. He shot up into the air, restraining me with one arm. His wings swept against the sky as the city became tiny below us.
