Twice Bitten

by R. G. Emanuelle

  "The two of you have really hit it off then, haven't you?" Johanna commented one day after an art show.

  "Who?"

  "You and Ursula. You seem to really enjoy her company. You ask about her every time we go out now."

  Rose was startled. She hadn't realized she was being so obvious. And if she had been pressed to explain, she wouldn't have been able to.

  All her life, Rose had felt like a shadow, a spirit, just wandering around, never really being seen, or heard, or felt. It was as if her body was a cobweb...present, but full of holes, visible, but fragile. When she spoke, it might as well have been a wisp of air passing through the room. The hollowness of her own voice frightened her sometimes...it almost made her believe that she truly did not exist. And certainly she saw no reason for her existence. What was she there for? What purpose did God have for her? It was apparent that women didn't carry the same importance as men, but other women seemed happy to get married, and looked forward to having babies, and taking care of their home, husbands, and children. And while the thought of children didn't seem so bad to her, she just didn't feel that same sense of anticipation and joy that other women did at the thought of getting married. What kind of wife would she be, she often wondered, when she didn't want to be a wife? So, was she a real person with real feelings? Sometimes she studied her own breathing just to make sure, to convince herself, that she was there, that she was alive, and that her body was a solid mass that took up space in the world.

  But as soon as Ursula's lips had touched hers, her gauzy, cobwebby body solidified. She was a real person with very real feelings and what she had felt at that moment in Ursula's arms was an incredible vitality that she could only liken to being reborn, and an awakening that surpassed the brightest morning sunlight.

  She put the steel tip of the pen into the black ink, then slowly brought it down to the paper. Where should she begin? Her thoughts and feelings were so tangled, words seemed inadequate to express them. She held the pen for so long that the ink began to accumulate at the tip. A blue-black droplet fell and she watched it spread across the page. She began to write.

  June 4, 1900

  Dear Journal,

  I know now that my feelings for U. are genuine. Dare I say I love her? My hand trembles as I write those words, for if anyone ever knew, I would be shunned. Or worse, placed in an institution or jailed or something, surely. Yet, even as I fear the words, I do not fear the emotion. To the world, it would seem unnatural, but my heart beats faster whenever I think of her. My skin tingled when she touched me today. Her kiss nearly melted me and left me breathless. And, despite her running out, I just know that she enjoyed kissing me and embracing me. I could feel it.

  Rose lifted her pen, in need of redipping, and paused as the memory of her embrace with Ursula filled her mind. It had been more than an embrace. It had been passionate, desperate, and Ursula's trembling had told her that it had been mutual.

  Anger began to supersede the warmth she was feeling. Oh, the way Ursula ran out! Why? What had she done to make her run that way?

  F. has designs on U. I can see it. The way she looks at her, the way she brushes her hand along U.'s arm. F. is beautiful, and I wouldn't blame U. if she chose her over me. Maybe that's why

  U. ran out. She realized she was making a mistake. Why settle for me when she could have someone like F.?

  Rose paused again and considered the words she had just written. Was Ursula even trying to make a choice? Rose thought that perhaps she was thinking too much of herself to believe that she was even in the running for Ursula's heart. But she had to be. The pressure of Ursula's lips on hers, the fervent slide of her tongue in Rose's mouth, told her she was. Ursula had nearly undressed her. What else could that mean? Still, Fiona had an almost magical pull, an allure that no healthy person could resist. She had seen men, and even a few women, turn their heads when Fiona walked by.

  F.'s beautiful eyes are enough to seduce anyone, even against their will. I find myself staring into them sometimes and I get a stirring deep down. Almost the same as I get when I look at U.

  Rose threw down her pen and slammed the book shut. No! I will not have those thoughts about Fiona!

  That she would place Fiona in the same category as Ursula was making her ill, even as her cheeks grew hot thinking about her. Her stomach lurched at the thought of kissing Fiona's lips or succumbing to her touch. Not because she wouldn't like it, but because she would like it. And it sickened her. Loving Ursula felt good and natural. Loving Fiona felt...wrong. No, not just wrong. Poisonous. There was something about Fiona that made Rose's skin crawl. It wasn't the good kind, like the tingling from fingertips lightly running across your skin. It was more the bad kind, like entering a cold, damp tomb. So why did she catch herself wanting Fiona's touch sometimes?

  Rose stood and went to the window. She looked to her right, toward Washington Square Park. The streets shone from a light rain and the streetlamps cast yellowish circles on the cobblestones. A sickly yellow. Nausea overcame her as thoughts of kissing Fiona passed through her mind. She couldn't help it. The thoughts came to her unbidden. Fiona's lips on hers, Fiona's hands on her hips and breasts, Fiona's tongue on her neck...

  Rose clapped her hands against her head, as if she could squeeze those images out. A sense of betrayal overcame her, even though Ursula had given her no reason to believe she would devote herself to Rose. In fact, Ursula's behavior pointed to the contrary.

  Ursula had made Rose's soul come alive, made her feel things she'd never dreamed of. But with an awakened soul and newfound passion and desire came darkness and moments of despair. What if she could never truly have Ursula as her sweetheart? Could she go back to her life of music, embroidery, her mother, the Society, and nothing else? She may have been invisible and numb before, but this would make her wither and die.

  Rose pushed herself away from the window and stared into the brightness of the candle, hypnotized by its flickering yellow flame. She'd never before heard of a woman loving another woman, yet here she was, competing for Ursula's affections with another female.

  Stop! Stop! Rose kept reprimanding herself, hitting her fists against her arms. Allowing herself to believe that Ursula felt the

  same way she did was asking for trouble. If Rose was wrong, the consequences would be horrible. She didn't much care about punishment from her family, but losing Ursula, even as a friend, would be unbearable.

  She sat back down in the chair heavily and dipped the pen again in the ink before she brought the stained steel down on the paper.

  I can't go on like this any longer.

  She had to find out how Ursula felt.

  If my feelings are unrequited, then so be it. But I can't go on not knowing. Thomas Gray was wrong...ignorance is not bliss. Not knowing the truth is agonizing.

  Pausing again, she looked up at the crucifix that her mother had hung on the wall above her headboard. Fiona was plotting something, she could tell. Rose could see it in the way Fiona's eyes shifted every time they were all together. Ursula was free to choose whomever she wanted, but Rose would not stand idly by as Fiona used trickery. She would protect Ursula in any way she could, by any means necessary.

  Chapter Fifteen

  FIONA STOOD AT the entrance of the Godwyn home, acting desperate for Bridget's benefit.

  "But I'm afraid Miss Rose simply cannot see you," Bridget said. "She is indisposed."

  "Please, I must insist on waiting," Fiona pressed. "I'll wait as long as it takes."

  "Very well. Come in, please." Bridget led Fiona into the parlor and told her that she would announce her to Rose. She gave Fiona a once-over, narrowing her eyes, then turned and went up the steps on rotund legs, hitching up her apron along the way.

  Fiona paced in short laps between the door and a card table. Everything was falling into place. By flirting with Ursula herself, Fiona had forced Rose to recognize her own feelings. To admit to them. Jealousy, Fiona had learned, had a way of bringing a person's emotion
s to the surface. And the hostility she'd been feeling from Rose lately was the sign she needed. Rose was ready to fight for Ursula. All she needed to do now was to feed Rose the story.

  She stepped out of the parlor and stood at the foot of the steps, listening to what Rose and Bridget were saying to one another on the second floor. It wasn't difficult with her powerful hearing.

  "Miss Rose," Bridget called as she knocked.

  "What is it?" Rose replied behind the closed door.

  "There's a visitor for you."

  "A visitor? For me?" Fiona heard Rose open her door to the housekeeper. "Who is it?"

  "Miss Fiona Keane."

  There was a pause. Fiona felt the air thicken.

  "Tell her I can't possibly see her. I'm busy."

  "I told her that but she insisted on waiting until you were available. She's in the parlor."

  Rose huffed. "Very well. Tell her I'll be down shortly."

  Fiona heard the scuffling of Bridget's shoes and quickly went back into the parlor. Bridget stepped in. "Miss Rose will be down shortly, miss. Please make yourself comfortable."

  Bridget's voice was tight. Fiona got the distinct feeling that Bridget did not want her to make herself comfortable at all, but she tried not to care and sat on a pink floral divan, almost motionless. She'd wait patiently and for as long as necessary. This time, she took no interest in the art, the furniture, or the cushions. She had absolutely no interest in anything other than what was about to transpire.

  Nonetheless, Bridget's scrutinizing glance kept flashing in her mind. It gave her a sick feeling.

  Twenty minutes later, Rose entered the parlor, her hands gripping fistfuls of green dress at her sides.

  "Fiona," she said through tight lips. Rose stood several feet away from her. "I'm afraid you've caught me at a bad time. I'm in the midst of some work for the Society."

  "I'm sorry, but it's very important I speak with you." She stood up and took a step toward Rose.

  Bubbles of fabric spilled out from between Rose's fingers. "I'm afraid it's impossible..."

  "I think you'll be interested in what I have to say. It has to do with Ursula." Fiona tilted her head to dispel the tightness in her neck. The days were getting warmer and the heat was making her skin tight and dry, making her feel as if she were wrapped like an Egyptian mummy. Stiff. It amused her sometimes to refer to it as rigor mortis. With her plan so close to being played out, she was too tense with anticipation. An anticipation that denied any possibility of failure. And she had not been feeding regularly. She'd been busy with preparations, and the anxiety simply took away her appetite.

  Gesturing toward the sofa for Fiona to sit, Rose sat down on a pink damask wing chair, barely. Her back was still and she crossed her hands atop her knees.

  Fiona could feel Rose's heart racing. Rose's eyes were watery but glowing with determination and her body was taut with fury. She would soon abandon her proper breeding and do things she'd never dreamed of doing. Very soon.

  Fiona began slowly and clearly. "As you know, I've been seeing a lot of Ursula and I've gotten to know her well." The silence Fiona offered was intentional, giving Rose time to catch on.

  Rose glared at her.

  "I've come to understand Ursula and I want to help her. She needs you, you know." Fiona paused again. She furrowed her brows gravely and leaned over to place a hand on Rose's with sisterly concern.

  "She was in love a long time ago. But this person was cruel to her."

  Rose blinked a few times before asking, "What was his name?"

  "What was her name, and it's not important."

  Rose's eyes widened.

  "One evening, as they lay in each other's arms, this woman cursed Ursula. Not with a spell or potion, but with an act of cruelty. Her lover leaned her head toward her, as if bringing a kiss to her neck. Instead of a kiss, though, she bit her and drew blood. It was then that Ursula realized her lover was a vampire."

  Rose gasped, a mixture of horror and disbelief on her face.

  Fiona continued in deep whispers. "But she not only drew Ursula's blood for her own sustenance. For some twisted, sinister reason, she released some of her own foul blood into Ursula. Deliberately." At Rose's horrified expression, Fiona quickly added, "No, Ursula is not a vampire. She would have been if her lover had gotten to her again. But she became withdrawn and cold, unable to love anyone." She stopped again and waited.

  Fiona drank in the drama taking place, her own performance becoming increasingly theatrical. She knew nothing of Ursula's life but hoped that she could make the story sound plausible. She took a handkerchief from her purse and patted her cheeks, as if she were perspiring. The agony in Rose's face was exquisite. And painful.

  It wasn't Fiona's intention to hurt Rose, only to build up her emotions so that she would do what Fiona wanted. But the despairing look on Rose's face made Fiona doubt herself for a second. Was she doing the right thing? Fiona didn't want to turn the one she loved by force, the way Susanna had turned her. She hoped that her plan would work and that Rose would not only forgive her but someday love her.

  But Susanna had taught her one thing--sometimes force is the only way to get what you want. In the end, if she had to force Rose, so be it. For now, though, Rose was cooperating.

  Rose held her hand to her mouth as she got up and walked a few paces until she stood in front of a gilded crucifix. Sorrow replaced the anger in her features. She was caught in Fiona's trap as a fly in a web.

  Fiona then recited the words she had carefully rehearsed. "The only way she can love again is if someone draws blood from her as a symbolic act of purification. It must be someone who loves her. Ursula would then love that person in return." Please, let her believe this.

  Rose's face froze. "Are you a witch?" she asked her so softly that if Fiona didn't have superb hearing, she would not have caught it.

  One corner of Fiona's mouth went up in a sympathetic grin. "No, dear. Let's just say I did a lot of reading up on the subject."

  "What subject? Vampires?" The incredulousness in Rose's voice and on her face made Fiona's confidence waiver for a second.

  "Yes, as a matter of fact."

  Rose walked toward Fiona. Straightening her back and flattening her dress with the palms of her hands, she said, "Tell me what I need to do."

  Chapter Sixteen

  THE COMPASSION THAT Fiona felt at that moment was almost unbearable. The time had come to begin changing Rose and all Fiona could think about was Rose's willingness to do anything for the woman she loved. Once again, Fiona wavered. Rose was sweet and caring, and Fiona wondered if she deserved her.

  She shook her head to let go of those thoughts. Rose was meant to be hers and now was the time to claim her.

  "As I said, you must draw blood from her. I've read all about it and studied the procedure. I'm going to show you how to do it."

  Rose's face screwed up. "Does it have to be real blood? I mean, since it's a symbolic gesture, can't it be symbolic blood?"

  "No. The tainted blood must be drawn out and, because you love her, you must be the one to do it." She went to where Rose stood and put her hand on her arm. "This will allow her to love again."

  Rose's cheeks and forehead turned as pink as a sunset. She looked down at the ground.

  "Don't be ashamed," Fiona said softly. "You love her and that is a beautiful thing. It doesn't matter what anyone else says. The only thing that matters is what's in your heart."

  Rose lifted her head and Fiona saw the determination return to her eyes. Fiona gave her a small smile as a reward.

  "I knew you wouldn't let Ursula down," she said, and kissed Rose on the cheek.

  Fiona put her hand to Rose's smooth cheek and ran it slowly into her soft and lustrous black hair. Strands came loose as Fiona pulled her fingers back through it. With her thumb and forefinger on Rose's neck, she tilted Rose's head over and back slightly. Slowly, Fiona neared her lips to Rose's neck, taking in her closeness, breathing in her scent. She wanted so
badly to kiss her but she knew she had to focus on the task at hand or risk losing the opportunity.

  Rose flinched as Fiona's lips brushed her skin and Fiona could feel her stiffen.

  "Don't worry, darling," Fiona whispered. "This won't hurt a bit."

  Fiona put her starved mouth on Rose's neck and sunk her teeth into her creamy skin, still fragrant from that morning's lavender bath. Rose's blood glided over Fiona's tongue and down her throat with such sweetness that Fiona thought she would cry. Until now, blood had never been anything more to her than sustenance. Never had it been so delectable. This was ecstasy. This was her communion with Rose.

  "I feel dizzy," Rose said weakly, clinging to Fiona.

  Brushing Rose's loose hair over her shoulder, Fiona murmured in her ear. "You're such a good girl, Rose." She savored the feel of Rose in her arms and breathed in as much of her scent as she could.

  Then, reluctantly, she pushed Rose away from her. Rose was a little unsteady on her feet, so Fiona held her by both arms. "Tomorrow, go to Ursula and do as I've just done," she said. She turned Rose around and gently guided her to the staircase and up the stairs. "Which is your room?" Rose pointed to the third door down the hallway and Fiona walked her there. She opened the door and quickly shut it behind them.

  Once she'd seen Rose safely to the bed, she removed her boots and laid her down. Fiona sat down on the edge of the mattress. "Remember, don't tell anyone about this or we'll both be in trouble. And keep your neck covered." She adjusted the lace collar so that it hid the puncture wound on Rose's neck.

  She kissed Rose on the forehead, then slipped out of the room. She stopped at the top of the stairs to listen for noise. A couple of steps down, then...voices. She went back up and hid behind the corridor wall.

  "I want a punchbowl. But no spirits. Do you hear me, Bridget?" Rose's mother had a bit of a shrill to her voice. "I don't want a bunch of drunken sots in my house."