by Sam Stone
‘Demon!’ one yelled. Falling back, he stumbled and pitched into the canal.
The others froze, their weapons gleaming with my blood, reflecting the moon. I licked my lips, still enjoying the taste of the now cold blood. My jaw throbbed and in my mouth I discovered new modifications. My canines were extended, long and sharp; I had my own stilettos. Yes - I remembered - Lucrezia had used hers on me.
The men ran; their footsteps echoed by the clang of knives falling on the cobbled canal bank; the body of their one time leader, the man I thought of as Stiletto, quickly forgotten. I picked him up, shook him, and roaring in anger I threw him into the canal.
I gave chase to the others but they had dispersed into the corners of the Gehenna they had first come from and I was not experienced in tracking. The realisation calmed me. There was nothing more I could do. Perhaps these villains would think twice before accosting another at night. I turned, looking around me.
I knew that the noise would draw some attention, but I hadn’t expected to come face to face with Ysabelle. She had come out of her house, followed me some way and I knew then that to think I could still remain anonymous would be naïve. She stared at me. Recognition, fear, horror, all these things furrowed across her face.
‘Come inside,’ she said, wide eyes blinking rapidly. ‘You are wounded. I can help.’
‘But ...’
Her face! Sadness and longing reflected in the image of the salty water that shone in her eyes. I followed her, though baffled because she knew what I could do. I was certain of it. She knew I was no longer human.
The children huddled in the corner of the tiny threadbare room. She led me to a roughly carved wooden stool and tugged me down until, dazed, I sat. My powerful limbs felt limp and I am sure that I was in some state of shock over the evening’s events.
Ysabelle picked up the bowl and tipped the contents out of the open window, then poured fresh water in from a clay jug. Beside her I noticed a bag of rags; she pulled out a strip, dipped it in the water and began washing the blood from my blank face.
‘Children, go to bed. Everything is alright now. The signor saw off those villains.’
Gabi nodded, but Marguerite looked dubiously at me.
‘I will not hurt your mother,’ I promised.
My voice sounded pitiful and weak and Marguerite weighed me up a while longer. Eventually she took her brother’s hand and led him from the room to a little alcove that was only covered by a tattered, grey curtain. Pushing it aside they went in while Ysabelle rinsed the rag, squeezing out the excess water into the bowl. I heard the soft scratching of their small bare feet as they climbed onto their straw pallet and wrapped a rough blanket around their cold frightened bodies.
‘They did not see anything, signor,’ Ysabelle told me, and I realised that she was afraid I might hurt them.
I stared at her while she took my hands, submerging them in the blood stained water. I rubbed my fingers and palms, washing away the signs of murder while I considered how right she had been to fear for her children. I was a stranger and a dangerous one.
‘Let me take off your coat and shirt - they stabbed you.’
‘No ... I am unhurt.’
‘Nonsense.’
She tugged at my torn velvet coat, removed the ruined silk waistcoat, lifted the frilled white shirt over my head and turned away. I allowed her to help me though I knew deep down what would be revealed underneath. While she began to carefully fold my clothes into a neat pile I looked down at the wounds and gasped. The small gashes were healing before my eyes and my body had changed. The strange hardening I’d experienced after taking the first mouthful of blood had been the result of my body restructuring itself. Muscles rippled across my stomach, my arms bulged with the strength and power of supernatural flesh and bone.
I looked up to find Ysabelle staring at my healing wounds, her eyes wide.
‘I ... don’t know what is happening.’
‘You are a miracle, signor!’
‘No. I’m a monster.’
I put my head in my hands and tears mingled with the remaining traces of blood to run in rivulets down my bare wrists. While I heaved and sighed with fear and remorse, the girl I once used for my own experience and personal gratification came silently to me with a cup of warm wine. She patted my bare shoulder with the loving kindness of a mother. I took the wine, drinking sloppily. Its contents soothed my insides, calmed me, not so much for its intoxicating properties but by the kindness with which it was bestowed.
Ysabelle sat down quietly on her own pallet, thread a needle patiently, and carefully began sewing my ripped coat while I finished washing.
‘I want to help you.’
‘Why would you want to do that, signor?’
‘They are my children!’
‘No. They are mine.’
‘You surely cannot deny that I am ... ?’
‘Their father ... ?’
We both fell silent and I could hear the tide as it lapped against the side of the canal like a cat licking its paws. I forced the sound back into the recesses of normal hearing, returning my attention to Ysabelle’s pinched and frightened face.
‘Si. You are their father. But I bring them up, while you happily dance and sing with beautiful ladies.’
‘I did not know ...’
‘And what would you have done if you did, Gabriele? You were a mere boy and I an innocent girl.’
‘I would have helped ...’
‘Madam Fontenot told your uncle, but he did not believe.’
‘He never told me.’
She bit the tiny thread with small yellowed teeth and lifted my coat up for inspection.
‘There. Almost as new. It is fortunate it is black, the blood will not show.’
‘Stop it! Stop it damn you! I have as much right ...’ My voice echoed around the small room.
‘Madre!’ A small voice cried from behind the curtain. ‘Is everything alright?’
‘Si, Gabi. Go back to sleep.’ She turned to me. ‘You have no right!’ she said in hushed tones. ‘You come here, and frighten my children!’
‘You are right. This was not what I intended. I came to see them. I was going to help you secretly. Unfortunately those ...’ I indicated the window and the street outside. I felt hopeless, dejected, and I didn’t know what to do for the first time in my spoilt life. ‘I never expected you to find me outside ... My uncle should have told me ...’
‘He was right not to.’
‘No. He was not,’ I insisted, then paused before saying, ‘What do you want for them? For their future?’
She looked up at me, her eyes glittered with tears of anger and something else that I couldn’t understand.
‘Everything.’
‘Then let me help.’
She stared at me; her large black eyes piercing into my soul as though she could see everything inside that I hid even from myself.
‘You have changed, signor.’
‘I am a man ...’
‘No, I think you are something more ... but I shall not dwell on this if your intentions are as you say.’
‘Let me get a better house for you; a governess to educate Gabriele and Marguerite. Money - I live well, you need not work in a scullery or elsewhere again, Ysabelle.’
‘You ... remembered my name?’
‘Yes, of course I do!’
Silver lines furrowed down her cheeks and I realised that Ysabelle regarded me with far more fondness than I had suspected.
‘There’ll be a dowry for Marguerite, and as for Gabriele ... may I call him Gabi?’ She nodded. ‘I can get him a commission in court, if that is what you want. Do either of them ... have a voice?’
Ysabelle regarded me.
‘I heard you many times in the Count
ess’ salon. Your voice carried right down into the kitchens. The other maids used to say how beautiful ... but you know that, signor.’ She smiled sadly.
‘Marguerite? Perhaps, but I do not really know about these things.’
‘But I do. I want to be part of their lives. I want to be their father.’
‘No!’
She leapt from her seat on the pallet and paced the room, a faded shadow of her former self.
‘I told them ... their father was dead.’
‘I see.’ Sick sadness pulled at my insides.
‘But ... an uncle would be acceptable, signor.’ Ysabelle’s timid eyes rose to meet mine.
I nodded. What else could I do? I was a father! And this brought with it new responsibilities. It took the horror of my changed condition away from me, and I even wondered briefly if society could accept this new enhanced being I had become when Ysabelle accepted it so easily.
It took so little for me to arrange more tolerable accommodation because I brought them back to my own home after organizing a governess to teach the children.
I soon learnt that Marguerite was extremely bright, the governess heaped praise on her. She had a voice with wonderful lyrical purity which I was determined to train. Gabi proved lazy and naughty for the most part; but wonderfully amusing. In the next few months my children grew to know me as their uncle and benefactor and I was happier then than I had ever been in my whole life.
Chapter 16
Lilly relaxes in my arms as we soar across the night sky of Manchester centre. Her warm breath caresses my cheek sending a thrill down every vertebrae of my spine. My arm tightens around her as we glide above Deansgate. Late-night shoppers scurry beneath us like floodlit termites in the wink and glitter of pre-Christmas sales. Looking down on Kendals I see an obese man pushes his way through the crowd, staggering on his sausage legs with ungainly presence. Deftly he snatches the purse from a woman’s half open bag. He jostles her, his clumsiness used as a distraction, before he stumbles on through the crowd.
‘Did you see that?’ Lilly asks.
‘I see everything.’
‘We should do something.’
‘No.’
‘Why not? We can do all these amazing things and ...’
‘Lilly. We don’t live in this world, we are merely observers.’
‘Which philosopher did you steal that from?’
‘What?’
‘Forget it. Show me things!’
We hover before the illuminated top floor window at Harvey Nichols. In the window is a purple sofa beside a mannequin dressed in an evening gown of red silk. The purple clashes horribly with the garish red, but the taste of the modern world finds this acceptable. A man sits on the sofa while his girlfriend parades before him in a flowery two piece that is too old and frumpy for her. Even so, he nods and his mouth moves as he tells her he likes it.
Lilly shivers. Her cheeks are pale; her eyes hollow in her face. She’s suddenly drained.
‘They can’t see us?’
‘No. Did you feel a cold sensation in your limbs?’ Lilly nods. ‘I’ve spent years trying to work it out but, I think it’s something similar to what a chameleon does.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, we kind of change colours. It’s less about transparency and more about blending. I mean, we’re here, right? But they can’t see us.’
‘This is really ... weird.’
She is silent. Her jungle eyes, a brighter green than they were before, (why didn’t I notice the change?), flick left and right and her body, pressed in mine, feels so cold. Despite her apparent unease I can’t suppress the exhilaration that rushes through my newly filled veins at the mere pressure of her hips through the thin fabric of her pyjama bottoms. She shivers again and guilt clutches at my spirit.
‘Come. Let’s go back to my place. A warm drink will be good for you right now. You’ll need to feed soon.’
She looks sick and I’m not sure if it is the hunger getting to her or the thought of killing again. I will the air to gather beneath us; we rise gently above the building and glide right, landing on top of my penthouse. I show her the skylight window and, bemused, she allows me to pull her in.
‘Don’t you ever use your front door?’ She trembles; her teeth chatter as she talks.
‘Of course,’ I laugh. ‘But the skylight was an asset when I bought the apartment. It means that a lot of my movements are not monitored by the security guards in the foyer.’
We enter the living room and she flops down on the chaise; her energy evaporates as the air whistles through her teeth. She hugs her body and it’s then I become aware once more that she is still only wearing a flimsy tee-shirt and pyjama bottoms. I hurry towards the kitchen.
‘We better get you some clothes sorted out. I’ll get you some of my sweaters and joggers for now. There’s loads of wardrobe space. We’ll go shopping tomorrow; get you some new things. Is there anything you want to take from the halls? Some memento?’
‘What are you t-t-talking about?’
I stop in the doorway, halfway in my black and silver kitchen (barely used in honesty) and halfway in the lounge. How stupid I’ve been. Of course - she couldn’t possibly realise the full implication of her transformation. I lean on the door jamb. Her eyes are dazed. How am I going to break this to her? I sigh, preparing to answer the questions that are bound to follow. Lilly isn’t looking at me. She’s transfixed by the glass cabinet once more as she stares at its reflection in the blackened window. She stands. Turning, her steps uneven, she lurches towards it. Her hand reaches out and opens the cabinet before I can even think to stop her. Long pale fingers hover. I don’t have them in any particular order. I don’t need to, my memory is faultless. She pauses over one, then another.
‘I can smell ... hair.’
She scoops up the oldest locket. The first of my trophies and I gasp as she flicks it open and smells the dark strand inside. She is still; the only sound the gentle inhalation and exhalation of her breath.
‘So old.’
I can’t speak, my breath catches in my mouth. Then she turns to me, horror and revulsion curling her lips. Her body shaking now, though less from cold and more from shock.
‘These are your ... trophies!’
It’s a guess, it must be. How can she know that?
‘All of them. Dead and rotted. I can smell death on them - like the girl in the alley!’
She falters. Drops the locket, my favourite, but the one that still tortures me the most. The hair falls out, floating down as though in ecstasy, just like Ysabelle as I tore out her throat ...
‘You’re a murderer!’ She screams and her yell hurts my ears.
‘You don’t understand,’ I say, collapsing at her feet to scoop up my treasure; it is all I have, all that remains of her.
‘You killed them and ... kept these sick reminders!’
I stand, go to her; I want to calm her. She is everything to me now and must understand all that I am - but must it be so soon? I am not prepared for this! My hand reaches out, takes hers but she shakes me off with the ease of an equal.
‘Don’t touch me!’
Her body trembles; I fear she may fall apart in anguish. My hands are out and I wave them before me, hoping to calm her.
‘They were food to me, Lilly. You must understand.’
‘No. Don’t come near me. Especially with that - thing in your hand.’
The jungle is vibrant now in her eyes and expression. She is like a caged animal. Cornered, she may come out fighting.
‘They were lives. Young, innocent. You had no right!’
‘It’s not that I didn’t care. You’ll understand soon. Please! I’ll explain everything.’ I hope that she feels my sincerity.
‘Explain? Explain what?
You’re a vampire?’
‘I don’t use that term to describe myself. It’s so ... Bram Stoker.’
‘Are you crazy? What does it matter what you call yourself? YOU’RE A MONSTER!!’
Even though I expect it, her words rip through me like a thousand knives, cutting deeper and drawing more blood than any instrument of torture could.
‘I thought I’d been dreaming. The sex, the bite, the perversity of it all. It must have been the “E” Nate slipped in my drink ... It couldn’t possibly be real ... And we’d been reading all that Goth stuff with Professor Francis ...’ Her face twists, tugs at her eyes and the glint within is reminiscent of madness.
She backs away from me, her hand stretched out, mouth open in a silent scream. Frenzy, panic, hysteria ... her breath pulls raggedly at her chest, protesting as she almost forgets to breath.
The scream builds inside her and I hear it in her head before it reaches her vocal cords. I reach out and slap her. Hard. Once. Twice. And it stops because there is only one thing to do with a hysterical female.
She stares at me, holding her cheek. Then her hand lashes out and she hits me back, a slap harder than any I gave her. I step back, my jaw drops to my chin.
‘Nobody hits me! Don’t you ever do that again!’ she shouts. I’ve never been slapped by a woman before.
‘You ... were hysterical.’
‘I’ve every right to be. You bloody bit me! Now take me home.’
‘Home? Home? Don’t you get it? This is your home now! You can’t go back. You can’t live a normal life. They age, Lilly. You won’t. Sooner or later they notice and as the ages run, science becomes ever more curious. Can you imagine what they would do with us in their endless search for immortality?’
