by Tanith Frost
“It’s fine,” I say, and run my fingers over the dark, velvety curtains that surround the bed, offering an extra layer of protection from the sun’s rays. I press down on the mattress. Firm, but not uncomfortable. I set my suitcase and backpack down and follow Naya and Daniel down the hall.
“Bathroom’s here,” Naya says, opening another door onto a dark room with a claw-footed tub and ancient-looking toilet and sink. The mirror is cracked around the edges and its silver frame is tarnished, but the space still has an air of run-down elegance. “There’s a shower on the first floor, but the hot water’s a bit sketchy at times down there.”
We pass an unoccupied sitting room across the hall that’s packed with bookshelves and comfortable chairs. Curtains cover what looks to be a big window that might offer a fantastic ocean view.
Naya offers Daniel the room next to it. He leaves his suitcase and closes the door tight, not bothering to approve of the space. I guess it doesn’t matter. This isn’t going to be home for him.
“Now, then,” she says. “Introductions.” We head back up the hall and Naya knocks at the door across from mine, behind which a pair of voices are murmuring in muted conversation. They fall silent, and a moment later the door opens. I take a step back, instinctively fleeing from the dark eyes topped with heavy, grey-streaked brows that glare out at us. Daniel’s only a pace behind me, though, and I bump into his solid form before I can make much of a retreat.
God, those eyes. Viktor's were like a shark’s, flat and terrifying. These eyes could be the waters a shark swims in, vast and black and deep beyond measure. I look away before I can drown in them.
“Who is it, Trent?” calls a rich, female voice with an accent I can’t place. It reminds me of the one actors used to use in old movies.
The door opens a little wider, but the scowl doesn’t leave Trent’s face. He looks me over slowly, and I return the favour without meeting his eyes. He wears a dark suit in a cut that hasn’t been fashionable for at least a hundred years, but he wears it well. His hair, dark brown and streaked with iron, hangs to his shoulders. He’d pass for late middle-aged if he could pass for human at all, making him the oldest-looking vampire I’ve ever encountered. Even Miranda and Viktor, who are hundreds of years old, hardly look forty. Looking into his eyes is like gazing into the void itself, and I’m glad when he breaks his hard glare and snorts dismissively.
“New ones,” he says, and his voice is as deep and cold as his eyes. He disappears back into the room, leaving the door open a crack.
“Come in, darlings,” calls the female voice.
“I warned them you were coming,” Naya tells us, and pushes the door open.
The decor in here is downright airy compared to my room, all delicate, whitewashed furniture and white lace linens over the heavier blackout blinds. A white coffin with flowers carved into every surface rests in the middle of the floor, its lid closed. The curtains are drawn tight, but a big mirror over the vanity reflects light from a lamp with a blue glass shade.
The ancient vampire Trent reclines in a threadbare pink armchair, apparently having lost interest in us. His attention is on the one who sits at the vanity, leaning close to the mirror as she applies lipstick and pats wavy auburn hair that looks like it’s been frozen in time since the 1950s. She casts a glance back over her shoulder and flashes a coy smile.
“Darlings,” she says, and rises gracefully. She’s strongly built—not overweight or unfit by any means, but athletic and unafraid of taking up space. She sweeps around the end of the coffin, her sheer nightgown trailing behind her as she pulls a light dressing gown over top.
Daniel averts his eyes until she’s tied the belt.
“This is Genevieve,” Naya says, and smiles as the elderly vampire grasps my hands in hers and kisses both of my cheeks, then does the same to Daniel. She smells like pressed powder and lavender. Like a grandmother, in fact, but she doesn’t look it. Her porcelain skin is unlined save for a few creases around her eyes, which are dark enough that I only spot the green in them when the light catches it.
Trent grumbles something, and Genevieve rolls her eyes dramatically. “Don’t listen to that old grump,” she tells us. “We need new blood, so to speak. Trent knows it as well as anyone. He’s just miffed because he doesn’t get to make the selections himself.”
“Doubt I’d find many good candidates these days,” he mutters, and stands. He smooths his jacket and trousers. “Excuse me. It must be nearly sunrise by now.”
He glares again, and the four of us standing by the door part like the waters of the Red Sea to allow him to pass.
“I suppose I should retire as well.” Genevieve sighs. “Pleasure to meet you, darlings. Just give Trent some time.”
“Will he warm to us?” I ask.
“Oh, goodness no,” she laughs. “But he may lose interest.” She narrows her eyes and looks us over, and for a moment the careless glamour is gone, replaced by shrewd judgement. Then she smiles softly. “I’ll at least give you a chance to impress me.”
She floats away and seats herself at her vanity again, reaching for a jar of cold cream. Naya leads us out of the room and closes the door behind Daniel. “You’ll get along fine with Genevieve,” she says, speaking quietly. “Just don’t take anything she says personally.”
“And Trent?” Daniel says. I note that there’s none of the hostility in his tone that there was when he asked me about the werewolves, though the surly old vampire could be a far more powerful threat.
Naya presses her lips together. “Trent is old. I don’t know how old, and I doubt he remembers or cares.” She gestures to a closed door on our right as we continue down the hall. “He’ll be settling for the day, now. Never stays up.”
“Coffin?” Daniel asks.
Naya nods. “The vampires here hold tight to some very old customs, and I’ll warn you that Trent has no respect for those who don’t.”
“How did they end up here?” I ask. “They seem physically fit and all there mentally. I mean, most of them.” I’m not willing to make any bets about Edwin’s sanity after his little performance.
“I don’t like to tell stories,” Naya says. “I’d advise you to let them tell you what they want, when they want. I’ll fill you in on anything you need to know as it comes up, but they do value their privacy. It would be so easy to reduce them to what’s on paper, but—”
“Where are the files?” Daniel asks.
Naya sighs. “In the office downstairs. I’ll show you after we finish introductions.”
We pass several more closed doors on our way to a narrow, enclosed staircase at the far end of the hall that leads us back downstairs. The servants’ staircase, maybe, when this was a house full of humans. Sounds of laughter and the smell of baking reach us before we get to the bottom and enter a large kitchen to find a pair of vampires standing with their backs to us. The one to the left looks over her shoulder at us before returning her attention to the bowl she’s methodically stirring. The dark skin of her forearms is dusted with flour, and she paints her pulled-back black hair with a streak of dough as she brushes a tightly-curled strand away from her face.
There’s something strange about her. She’s obviously old, dark-eyed and moving with the slow dignity that seems typical of more experienced vampires. But I can barely get any sense of her. It’s not like what I feel with Daniel, who guards his power well but whose personal presence is still almost overwhelming.
It’s like she’s a ghost.
The other vampire seems oblivious to our presence. She’s too busy with the dough and cookie trays on the counter in front of her.
“Two more batches, Hannabelle,” she says, and rests a pale hand on a generously curved hip. Her frizzy blonde hair, piled on top of her head in a messy bun, gives her the air of a mad scientist in spite of the modestly cut floral dress she wears. “More chocolate chips next time. No need to be stingy, now.”
“I’m not going to have room in the car for that much,” Nay
a says, and both vampires turn. “Besides, you two should get some sleep.”
The one who spoke grins, revealing long fangs—one of which is marked with a streak of pink lipstick that sets me running my tongue over my own teeth. She claps her hands together, sending up a puff of flour dust. “The new ones have arrived!”
The other vampire, Hannabelle, sets her bowl down and takes her yellow apron off, but doesn’t speak.
Naya smiles. “Lucille, Hannabelle, I’d like to introduce you to Aviva and Daniel.”
“What lovely names!” Lucille declares. She strikes me as the type who speaks in exclamation points, and I wonder whether her friend is silent out of choice or lack of opportunity for speech. “Come in, come in, don’t be shy. I’d offer you a cookie, but…” She mimes gagging and rolls her eyes dramatically.
Naya grins.
“We appreciate the thought,” Daniel says, eyeing the twin trays of decadent-looking cookies on cooling racks beside the oven. We could theoretically eat if we had to, but avoid it. Waking one’s digestive system up to take care of sweets after years of nothing but blood can’t be a pleasant process.
I don’t mind most of the time, but the scents of this room are waking up memories of my grandmother’s kitchen and baking with my friends when I was alive. It’s enough to make a dead girl’s mouth water.
“Are all of these for Naya and Sean?” I ask, and lean a little closer to inhale again. Chocolate. God, how did I forget to crave that over the past few years?
“Goodness, no,” says Hannabelle. Her voice is surprisingly strong, given her quiet demeanour, and carries a hint of a sweet southern drawl. “We send them off with Naya, and she takes them in to town.”
Naya’s smile is kind. Indulgent, even, and her eyes shine as she looks at these vampires. I wonder whether that warmth will survive her eventual transformation, and whether she’ll still be considered a good candidate for vampiredom if an elder ever sees that sweetness in her. “I donate them for bake sales, that sort of thing. People think I work at a high security senior’s residence. Lucille and Hannabelle are getting quite the reputation in some circles.”
“I should hope so,” Hannabelle responds. “Some good has to come out of this much experience.”
Lucille pats her companion on the shoulder, leaving a white handprint on the dark blue fabric of Hannabelle’s dress. “More good than that, my dear. Don’t forget the extras we leave out for the fairies. Now, where did I put the baking powder?”
Daniel raises his eyebrows at me. If there are fairies around here, it’s news to both of us. It seems far more likely that this one’s completely off her rocker. At least she doesn’t seem dangerous.
She returns to her work as though she was never interrupted. Hannabelle gives us a faint smile and joins the search for ingredients as we slip out through a folding door that leads back to the downstairs hallway.
“It’s good for them to have a hobby,” Naya tells us as we leave them to their work. “Something to fill the nights. As it turns out, there’s only so much studying you can do before your brain stops holding water.”
“Is that Lucille’s situation?” Daniel asks. “She seems…”
“Different? She is, but that’s not why.” Naya says, and a shadow crosses her pleasant features. “I’m only telling you this so you’ll understand. So you won’t dismiss her or think less of her, and so you won’t ever bring it up when she’s around.”
I step closer without meaning to, hanging on every word. Gossip has never been one of my personal vices, but this is information. And that, I’m learning, is valuable.
“Lucille was one of the great ones, once,” Naya continues, leading us slowly back toward the front door. “A survivor of the greatest wave of vampire hunters back in the eighteen hundreds. She was around when vampires formed the clan system and worked out their treaties and territories. Apparently things weren’t so peaceful between the clans back then. Lots of turmoil. Territory issues. Power struggles.”
I nod. This is basic history, and I can’t say I’m sorry I missed all of that. I am impressed that a human got her hands on this information, though.
Naya stops and leans against the wall, and when she looks up, her dark eyes are sorrowful. “Trent was there when it happened, but he doesn’t talk about it. All I know is that one of the other clans captured her. I don’t know how, I don’t know why. But as far as I can tell, not all elders are as pleasant as yours.”
I almost laugh at that, but she’s obviously not being facetious. Everything is relative, I guess.
“They tortured her. Starved her, maybe. Held her for a long time before she was rescued. When Maelstrom got her back, she was different. Empty. And even when she seemed to come back, to wake up a bit, she had changed. She doesn’t exactly seem to exist on this plane of reality most of the time, if that makes any sense.” She smiles sadly. “She tells tales she’s convinced are real. Thinks it’s fairies taking her cookies and not seagulls. She’s useless outside of these walls, of course, but she’s happy doing her own thing. And we don’t disturb that.”
Daniel rests his hand over his mouth, but doesn’t hide the pained look in his eyes. You never hear stories like this about the past. At least, I don’t. I don’t understand politics or power struggles. I’m not even sure I want to, but it seems hard to escape them in our world.
Naya presses a few buttons on a keypad set in the wall, the most high-tech thing I’ve seen since we arrived. Security, I suppose.
I look around at the faded wallpaper and take note of the uneven floorboards as we make our way into a room at the front of the house. A young man sits in a wheeled desk chair in front of a computer. He’s wearing striped pyjamas, and his chestnut hair sticks up in patches.
“Morning,” he mutters. “Coffee will be ready in a minute.”
As though on cue, the machine in the corner whirs, and the rich scent of good coffee fills the air. That, I can indulge in. And I will. Later.
“Aviva and Daniel got here just as Viktor was leaving,” Naya tells him, and sinks into a similar chair at a second desk. She wiggles the wireless mouse, and the screen comes alive.
Sean shudders. “Can’t say I’m sorry he had to go.” He turns to us. “Greetings, folks. Welcome to HQ. I’ll be your resident geek, should you need anything looked up, ordered, or otherwise dealt with via computer.” He leans forward. “Please challenge me,” he adds in a stage whisper. “I’m so damn bored.”
That explains his presence here, then. Sean doesn’t seem physically impressive, and his demeanour isn’t ideal for a future vampire. I’d have expected him to be passed over for selection. I guess they make exceptions for skills that will fill gaps in the clan’s ability to get along in the modern world.
“We’ll get another desk in here for you, Aviva,” Naya says. “Not that there’s a lot of paperwork or anything. We just like having our own space.”
I glance around, squinting at the glare from their computer screens. A pair of smartphones are charging in the corner, and there’s a little TV on a chest by the door. Fine things for humans, but all irritating to a vampire’s eyes and sensitive ears. I can’t even talk on my flip phone for long without feeling like it’s messing with my head.
“Is my position a new one?” I ask.
“Seems like it,” Sean says. “Not that we mind having more help. Honestly, we’ve been asking for more security and someone a bit stronger than us to help out on the occasions when Edwin loses his shit, but our pleas seemed to have fallen on deaf ears.” He runs his hands through his mop of hair, which does nothing to tame the mess. “We’re happy to have you.”
“Thanks.” I don’t add that I’m happy to be here. I’m not sure yet. The elderly vampires don’t seem too bad so far. Definitely not typical of the mature vampires I’ve met elsewhere, either at the club or on the job, but I can handle that. And Sean and Naya seem pretty cheerful and friendly, a far cry from my last co-worker. Working with humans will be strange, but not terrible
.
I suppose putting me here with the living shows some level of trust on Miranda’s part. That, or she’s watching to see whether I let myself get too close to them.
I can’t help remembering her last words to me, the ice in her voice when she pronounced my sentence. I am the subject of an experiment I don’t understand and that I didn’t volunteer for. Everything that gets thrown at me now could be a test, and I have no idea what I’m being graded on.
Keeping my head down and doing my job is probably a good start. Obeying. Proving my competence.
“Have we met everyone, then?” Daniel asks.
“That’s it,” Naya says, and stands to pour herself a cup of coffee. She stares into its depths. “I shouldn’t be drinking this when I’m on night shift,” she murmurs, more to the coffee than to us, then downs the entire mug. She sighs contentedly and sits again. “Files are there if you want them,” she tells us, and nudges a grey metal filing cabinet with her sneaker-clad foot. “But really, just ask the residents. With a few exceptions, they like to talk about the past. They aren’t so different from any other older person.”
Sean shoots her a dark look. “They’d hate to hear you say that.”
“Yeah, don’t tell Trent,” Naya adds, but she doesn’t sound frightened. “Just get to know them. Give it time.”
An awkward silence follows, and she sighs. “Bottom drawer holds all of the background stuff.” She pauses, then seems to remember that we’re the kind of vampires she answers to, not the kind she keeps watch over. She lowers her eyes. “Want me to grab them for you?”
“Thank you,” Daniel says, “but I’ll get them.”
I frown, though I’ve forced my expression back to neutral before anyone sees it. Daniel’s all about power and position. I’m a little surprised he’s not making the lowly human fetch whatever he needs. Maybe it’s because she’ll be one of us some day, and a potential ally.
