by Tanith Frost
I don’t have an answer for that.
He looks up at the purple sky. The horizon is turning pink, and my skin warms in anticipation of the thin autumn light that will soon break over the hills in the distance. “Guess we should get inside.”
“You think?” I grumble, and we pick up our pace.
The warmth becomes a faint burning sensation. Sunrise is threatening, and there’s no sign of the others.
I’m about to call out for them when Daniel races toward us from a low spot in the cemetery grounds. “Over here,” he calls, squinting at the brightening sky and waving us over.
We follow him into the shadows and down an overgrown path that leads us back to the wrought iron fence. Daniel vaults over it and heads toward a squat, white building with a crumbling parking lot in front.
“It seems abandoned,” he tells us, and holds the back door open. “Looks like someone was selling upscale funeral trappings here at some point.”
“Convenient location,” Edwin observes, and waves to Genevieve, who’s waiting inside the door, leaning against a rusted water heater.
She scowls. “Come find yourself a place to rest,” she tells him, and leads the way into a dark hallway.
I close the door behind me, and Daniel props a chair against it to hold it shut. The wood around the knob is splintered from their entry. I wrinkle my nose and decide not to breathe more than I have to, at least until I acclimatize to the stink of whatever has obviously died in the wall.
“What happened?” Daniel asks.
“He had an urge to scare the shit out of some kids.” It sounds insane, but I’m not sure how else to describe it. “They were partying in the graveyard. Making a mess.” As I think back on it now that the danger has passed, I almost understand the compulsion to teach them a lesson. Disrespectful little shits, intruding on land set apart for the dead and acting like it’s theirs. What Edwin did was wrong, but I can’t disagree with his reasons.
“Aviva?”
I grimace. “He, um… he hanged himself.”
Daniel opens his mouth, then closes it, apparently at a loss.
“I convinced them it was just a prank,” I add. “They might think he’s crazy, but they don’t think he’s a vampire or actually dead.”
“We’ll call that a small victory,” he says.
Human voices penetrate the thick wooden door. Daniel and I crouch beneath the dingy window, but as the sounds fade, he stands to peer out. They didn’t come over the fence. At least, they haven’t yet.
I crouch, resting my face in my hands, cooling my skin. “We need to get out of here.”
“We’re stuck for now.” He holds out a hand and helps me to my feet. “Might as well make ourselves comfortable. Everyone else is.”
Before I can ask what he means, he’s left the room.
I check the makeshift lock on the door, then follow.
I have no idea what’s happening, but Daniel doesn’t seem worried. For once, I’m just going to go with it.
Chapter Twelve
A large room at the front of the building is packed with caskets on display, and the vampires have gone on a shopping spree.
The lighting in the room is terrible, thanks to the heavy velvet curtains drawn across the windows that let in only slivers of dim, dust-filled sunlight. It’s enough, though, for the vampires who are roaming the room, assessing the merchandise like they’re playing it cool at an expensive car dealership.
“I like the magenta silk,” Genevieve muses, fingertips pressed to her lips as she looks one over and tilts her head to one side. “Bit cramped, though.”
“It’s just for one day,” Daniel says, and they all turn to us. Genevieve crosses her arms, clearly daring him to tell them to hurry their decision. Daniel holds his hands out to the side in surrender. “So have fun.”
Trent drags a massive cherrywood coffin to a more spacious, dark room across the hall where blank gravestones lean against the walls.
“Sleep well, old man,” Daniel calls after him.
Trent grunts something unintelligible back at him.
I don’t offer to help Lucille when she follows with an oak casket. I don’t want to insult her.
“What about you two?” Genevieve asks.
“They’re nice,” I tell her. “Not really what I’m used to, though. And someone needs to keep watch. We wouldn’t want the living stumbling on your slumber party.”
Edwin grins at me. Aside from the faint bruises that are slowly staining the skin above his collar, it’s as though nothing strange happened just a few minutes ago. “You’re not a real vampire until you sleep in a coffin.”
“Bullshit,” Daniel says, and Edwin snorts. He and Genevieve drag their new beds out of the room, leaving us with Hannabelle.
She’s selected a white coffin for herself, but she stops at the door and sets it down.
“It is,” she says to Daniel, then looks at me. “And it’s not.” She looks like she wants to say more, but stops.
I turn to Daniel, and he nods. “I’ll go let Miranda know we’re delayed.” He pulls his phone out and leaves us.
“So it’s not just tradition?” I ask her.
“Partly.” She bends to brush her fingertips over the white wood of the casket’s lid. “But for me, it’s also a reminder. I can go about my nights as I like, baking with Lucille, reading, enjoying myself. I can feed and not kill, and feel almost okay with that. But what I do doesn’t change what I am. Retiring to one of these reminds me of that.”
My chest tightens. “But why? You could sleep in a bed.”
She bites her lower lip and thinks for a moment. “I’ve been tempted. But it would be pretending. Like Genevieve acting like she’s still a great actress, but worse. She might cling to the trappings of her life, but she knows in her heart what she is, and she embraces it. It’s harder for me.” Her full lips tighten into a thin line. “Maybe I’ve been punishing myself, in a way. Holding a mirror up to what I am because I can’t escape it. Although I can’t say it’s ever helped.”
“So how is it not bullshit?”
She smiles softly. “Because the other night when that hunter attacked me, I almost gave it all up. And I’ve realized since that I don’t really want to. I’ve cut myself off from the void for so long that it may be too late for me to regain my power, and I’m certain I’ll never fit within Maelstrom. But things have changed. The vampire who created me—” She stops and swallows hard, but meets my eyes as she speaks again. “I was a good girl in life. A preacher’s daughter, and my father knew about the strange deaths that were happening in the area. He didn’t understand vampires, but he knew something was wrong, and I guess the vampires felt the pressure. They were going to kill him, but when they sensed the blood factor in me…”
“God, Hannabelle.”
“They treated me horribly. They made me kill right after I was turned, then they left the body for my father to find and took me away. They were cruel, and delighted in my horror at my own cravings. I’d starve myself until I couldn’t take it anymore, which only made it worse for my victims. No matter how I denied my nature or my power, no matter how far I got from my creator or how many times I changed my name, I never escaped myself. The cravings never stopped. So I acted. I fed, and I hated myself. But there was something in me that insisted on surviving.”
I want to tell her I understand, at least a little. That I can imagine how losing the light must have hurt more than losing her family. I was lucky, in a way. I had guidance. She had tormenters.
She brightens slightly. “It’s different now, though. Thanks to the new laws, I’ve felt comfortable for a long time with not killing. I have a friend in Lucille. Things have improved.”
“Sounds like it.” My heart aches for her, but she seems far more at peace than she did as she watched over Naya just a few nights ago. “Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe you can still accept your gifts and start over.”
“Maybe. It’s not all bad, after all.” She lean
s in like she’s about to tell me a massive secret. “Truth is, I’ve always liked the dark, and it doesn’t get darker or quieter than sleeping in a closed coffin. For some reason the world has always made more sense to me when my perceptions aren’t skewing its reality.” She smiles just a little as she narrows her dark eyes at me. “I think you and I both have a lot to figure out. And if there’s hope for me, there is for you, too.”
“Am I really that transparent?”
“Yes.”
I smile. You can’t expect a vampire, especially an old one, to bullshit you to spare your feelings. “Thanks, Hannabelle.”
She nods and picks up the front of the casket by one handle. “Just promise me you won’t ever make the same mistake I almost did,” she says quietly. “If it comes down to you and a living human who wants to finish you, be strong. Maelstrom needs more vampires like you.”
The hair on the back of my neck rises. She can’t know what almost happened on the roof. She’s speaking hypothetically. She has to be.
Or maybe I am just that transparent.
“And you?” I ask.
She speaks over her shoulder as she drags her coffin away. “I’ve learned a lesson, and thanks to you I have the chance to do better next time. Rest well, Aviva.”
The coffins have left a clear trail in the dust that covers the floor. I turn to look over what’s left, but don’t take one for myself.
I know what I am. I might not like everything about it, but I’ll get there.
I find Daniel in a small office down the hall, leaning back in an office chair with his legs stretched out in front of him, fingers laced behind his head, eyes closed. He’s pushed himself back into a corner to avoid the dim sunlight filtering through the grungy window at the other end of the room. It’s still too bright in here, but not unbearable.
He doesn’t turn to me right away. It’s unusual that I get a chance to look at him without feeling self-conscious about it, so I don’t rush to speak. Instead I take in the line of his jaw, which shows only a shadow of beard growth after his long days of vacation. His shirt, which is streaked with human blood, is hanging on the back of the chair, leaving him in a white t-shirt that reveals his sculpted arms and does a poor job hiding everything else I know is beneath.
His face is relaxed. Almost peaceful. I hate to disturb him.
“What did she say?” I ask.
He nods toward the phone sitting closed on the desk, but keeps his eyes closed. “I didn’t reach Miranda, so I called Viktor and let him know about the delay. The reception here is terrible. We didn’t speak for long before I lost the connection.”
“But they all made it back to town safely? The elders, I mean.”
He nods. “So I suppose our plan is to rest here today and continue toward Holyrood when night falls, unless you have another idea.”
“No. You want to sleep first?”
“Sure.”
“Going to grab yourself a coffin?”
A slow smile spreads across his face, and he opens one eye. I shiver. There’s something about the way he looks at me that makes me feel completely exposed. “I think I’ll pass. Might be more comfortable than this chair, though.”
He’s dumped the stuff from the van in the corner of the room. I spread one of the thick wool blankets on the floor, then sit with my back against the wall and motion for him to come over.
For a second I think he’s going to decline. Then he stands, approaches slowly, and sits beside me.
I pat my outstretched thigh. “I won’t bite you in your sleep. Promise.”
He looks like he’s got a response to that, but he doesn’t speak. He lies on his side instead, resting the weight of his head on the torn denim that covers my leg. I run my fingers through his thick hair, and he tilts his head forward so I can rub the back of his neck. He closes his eyes.
“I’m sorry your vacation’s not working out,” I say, keeping my voice soft in case he just wants to drift off.
He squeezes my thigh just above the knee. “I’d be bored if it had, I suppose. Though I’m still more than a little pissed at those hunters for ruining my time with you.”
My mouth goes dry. “The Blood Defenders, you mean.”
He rolls onto his back and looks up at me. “Who told you that?”
“The one on the roof. I should have mentioned it sooner, I guess.”
“It’s fine. We knew who they were.” He stares up into a dark corner of the room. “We knew when the fire started. Then Miranda got a confession from one of them before I came up to get you. We dealt with them long before your time.”
“Are they one of the old groups?” I ask when he pauses. Humans have hunted us for as long as we’ve existed alongside them. It’s why we have the clan system, why we’re so secretive about the supernatural world—they almost wiped us out in the nineteenth century. It seems impossible on the surface, given our strength. But they have numbers on their side, and vampires have learned time and again not to underestimate how motivating fear can be for the living.
Our own numbers are limited not only by the rarity of the blood factor among the living, but by the fact that we are predators who can’t afford to overwhelm the prey we rely on for survival.
So we’ve chosen secrecy and relative safety, and Trent is right that in a way we’ve caged ourselves, even if Hannabelle is proof that captivity suits some of us.
“Not that old,” Daniel says thoughtfully. “The Blood Defenders are an offshoot of those older lines of vampire hunters. Things had been quiet for a long time before they showed up in the eighties. We’d grown complacent, thinking humans had let go of the idea that we were anything but terrifyingly romantic bits of fiction, letting ourselves imagine that we were finally keeping our secrets from them.” His jaw tightens. “They took advantage of it. We weren’t as prepared as we should have been.”
Goosebumps break out on my arms. “Were you there for all of it?”
“I was. Those of us who were hunting rogue vampires shifted our attention to these humans. I had the distinct displeasure of meeting their leader. A woman by the name of Helena Slade.” He says her name like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth, even after all these years.
“Why suddenly start hunting us if we were doing such a good job hiding?”
He shrugs. “She knew we were real, believed we were evil incarnate, and developed a fanatical determination to see us wiped out. That’s all some humans need to start a crusade. A belief.” Daniel’s gaze becomes distant, like he’s looking directly into the past. “No one believed her, of course, and we thought she’d fade away like all of the other supposedly crazy people who knew about us. We even tried to have her committed though entirely human means, but she escaped to central Europe and found an old hunter who taught her everything he knew. I don’t know all of the details, but the bottom line is that she became a proficient hunter, then returned home and started recruiting and training others. That alone is unusual. Most of these people don’t survive their first encounter with us.”
People like Krystina, I guess. She shouldn’t have survived me, let alone Daniel. I’m not sure that makes her lucky, though.
“When did you meet her?”
Daniel grimaces. “I’m not sure meet is the word. It was at the end of our long hunt. The woman was becoming a myth by that point. Whenever vampires found her, she always managed to escape. Even if she’d been injured, even if our victory seemed certain. It seemed almost miraculous at times, even to us. Her followers saw it all, and it only fuelled their loyalty to their cause. They were always happy to die in her place.” He’s silent for a few seconds. “They believed she was on a mission from God, that she had angels protecting her and wouldn’t be allowed to die until we were wiped out.”
“What do you think?”
He turns back to me, and his gaze sharpens. “I think she did die, in the end, and that we’re still here. I was there. It was a long fight, and in the end it took a rockslide to crush her, but that was the end
of it. It was just a matter of cleanup after that.”
“Her body?”
“Her zealots.”
My chest tightens. “What about her remains?”
He closes his eyes again. “She was buried under tonnes of rock. Probably still is.”
I slap his arm. “Daniel! Have you never seen a horror movie?”
“No.”
I glower down at him, though he can’t see me. Still, I’m glad to know she’s dead. And I’m glad Daniel and the others didn’t suffer the same doubts I might have had at seeing the miraculous escapes of someone bent on destroying us, claiming God’s favour all the while.
I can’t claim I haven’t had my own questions about why vampires exist. Hell, for all I know, she could have been right about us, if not about her own divine protection.
“Was it hard to keep going in the face of all her so-called miracles?” I ask. “Did you ever think she might be right?”
“No.”
I think that’s the end of his answer until a few minutes later, when he takes another breath to speak. “Never let yourself believe that anyone has more right to their space on this planet than you have, especially if they claim divine guidance. Those who are loudest about that sort of thing are the biggest tricksters and frauds, in my experience.”
“Yeah, they are. So much for her angels,” I agree. Maybe such creatures exist, I don’t know. But it’s nice to think that if they do, they’re not rooting for people who want to murder us.
I decide that I really do like Lucille’s ideas about where we come from, whether or not angels and demons are real and give a damn what we do. It doesn’t matter. We’re here. We exist, and Hannabelle is proof that our instinctive desire to survive is as strong as that of any living creature.
