by Peter Dawes
“He did not convince you to join him in some sort of massacre?” I asked, somewhat facetiously.
Monica glared at me with caution, lifting a hand to swat at my backside. I jumped and she smirked at the way I reacted. “You act like I would’ve gone along with him,” she said. “As if you hadn’t taught me better than that.”
I chuckled. “Still, there has to be something tantalizing about the devil he is. He certainly had no lack for admirers before we met you.”
“Oh, he reeks of danger, and I’d be lying if that isn’t a turn-on.” She sobered, her expression turning soft and gentle. “I don’t have any intentions of joining him in any sort of massacre, though. I don’t care how charming he is.”
She lifted onto her tip toes, arms wrapping around me beneath the shower stream. We kissed and nipped playfully at each other, the level of wickedness which swept over bearing heated undertones. I carried her from the bathroom, still half-dripping wet, and lavished on her, feeling like the man who had married his best friend again. Even as she writhed and moaned, calling out my name through every pulse and crescendo I led her through, I heard the person I had spent a decade loving. And she acted as if she could remember every minute of it.
Inspired by this revelry, I allowed her to tug me out on a hunt. And then to the common area, where Angela had been joined by Martin this time. They commented on the glow we bore and smiled while suggesting we should have another evening together sometime soon. As Monica settled on my lap, curling against me on the couch where we sat, I played idly with the strands of her hair.
“Glad to know we made an impression,” I said, punctuating the comment with a good-natured chuckle.
“You did, though what I’m thinking of involves a lot more clothing,” Martin countered. While his face bore the conspiratorial, secretive smile I had seen him wear in previous encounters, it seemed much more tempered this time, the mystery behind it answered as quickly as I formed the mental question. “I think we should get out of here for a night. The fresh air could do us all some good and I purchased a few tickets for the opera. Would you consider joining us?”
Monica looked up at me, her expression hopeful. “You did promise me a ‘proper date’,” she said, hand lifting to form quotation marks with her fingers.
I could not help but to laugh. “I did say that.” The way she plead with her eyes prompted me to groan. I glanced at Martin, feeling less like the lover and more like the concerned maker. “She has been doing exceptionally well when I take her out hunting, but I have yet to see how she behaves around a crowd of pulses. I admit, I have some reluctance because of this.”
“We’ll be there to help,” Angela chimed. “If it looks like she’s getting hungry, we’ll help get her to a place where she can eat.”
“Are you certain you want to take on that sort of responsibility?”
“It’s not a problem,” Martin said. “Angie and I sometimes volunteer when Mistress Romani needs help with the new vampires. They keep you on your toes, but it’s not too much trouble to keep an extra eye out for when they start getting hungry.”
When Angela nodded in agreement, my attention returned to Monica. “It seems so odd to hear you so excited about the opera. You never expressed interest in it beforehand.”
“Well, what I don’t remember can’t hurt me.” Monica inched closer, placing a kiss on my cheek. “I’ll be fine, Peter, and it sounds like fun.”
“You are not going to allow me to say no, are you?”
She shook her head. Whatever bubble had formed during our earlier dalliance abruptly popped with how flippantly she acknowledged her amnesia. At the same time, the spirit in which it had been evoked at least prodded me to smile. Concern over the matter could wait for another time, I scolded. For now, the thought of indulging a night on the town sounded delightful, I had to confess. “Very well,” I said. “What night are your tickets for, Martin?”
“Friday,” he said, and though the week was just beginning, I winced at how little time I had to mentally prepare. He repeated the assurance that he and Angela would help, and I nodded, taking some measure of comfort in that once more. Enough that I laid my doubts to rest.
The normal tenor of our evening continued and the days following were spent engaged in familiar activities. Closer to the middle of the week, I took her out into a more heavily populated part of town, walking around with her and observing the way she interacted with the humans around her. As a vampire of only several weeks old, she handled herself well, and though I saw moments where it tested her mettle, she maintained her composure. Her eyes flicked toward storefronts and her mind became fixated on objects before a deep breath preempted her resuming focus on the people surrounding her. I returned that night much more assured that she would survive an evening at the opera.
Or, put more accurately, that the others in attendance would.
We rose early on Friday evening to ready ourselves for the night. While she sipped from a glass of blood, I fought with the bowtie I attempted to wear, scrutinizing my reflection in the bathroom mirror while she laughed. “So, how did you win the reflection lottery when the rest of us have to guess what we look like?” Monica asked. In my periphery, I saw her lean against the door frame.
I leaned closer to the mirror and frowned at another failed attempt. “This alleged gift is more trouble than it is worth at times,” I murmured. “Little things like this are the few instances which make it worthwhile.”
“That and little things like having three kids, right?” Her question prompted me to look at her. Lips curled in amusement, she set her glass down on the bathroom counter and nodded in the direction of our bedroom. “Well, I still think it’s unfair, for the record, but I guess I won’t force you to struggle alone. I’ll fix that and can help me with the zipper for my dress.”
“What a hardship. Though I suppose I should expect a quid-pro-quo to this, should I not?” Dropping the ends of the tie, I stood straight and followed as she led, admiring a glimpse of pale skin between her shoulder blades while I did. The urge to lay claim to it with my lips became a struggle. ‘Later,’ she would tell me, and I could hear her voice echo in my mind as though she had read my thoughts and responded with telepathy. The wicked curl to her lips lent credence to that suspicion, though neither of us exchanged a word while she worked on my bowtie. After giving it a small adjustment, she stepped backward and frowned, her eyes still fixed on the tie.
“Somehow. I know how to do this,” she said, her voice soft; the evocation of lost memories more solemn than it had been several days beforehand. “I don’t remember when and how I learned it, but I know I learned it. How screwed up is that?”
“You are still yourself, as I have told you, and that is what matters.” Perking an eyebrow at her, I motioned with my finger for her to turn around. “We should not get wrapped up in that thought, though,” I said, maintaining a smile. “Not tonight. Perhaps tomorrow we can discuss a better solution to the problem.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” She winked and presented her back to me as I had requested. Reaching for her zipper, I inched it upward and bent to brush my lips across her neck, giving into the compulsion as much to return my focus to the intent of the night as to bring her back to it. Monica chuckled, the sound light and suggestive. When she faced me again, reaching to ensure the pins which kept her hair in place were secured, I became transfixed.
“Stop that,” she said, lowering her arms. “You’re making me self-conscious.”
The way she looked at me defied the sentiment of her words. The ruby red dress which hung from her lithe frame accented her subtle curves, sweeping down to the split in the seam below her knees. A contrast against her pale skin, it made her dark hair look nearly raven; her pale skin, a creamy white. I lifted a hand to touch her, skimming my fingertips across her cheek before cupping her face in my palm. “I have no idea why you would be self-conscious, Dearest,” I said. “You are stunning.”
Her eyes shimmered. It looked a
s though she might attempt to blush, regardless of her inability to do so. “Come on, smooth talker. Martin and Angela are waiting, and you’re not getting out of taking me to this concert.”
“Fair enough.” I smirked, feeling a glow of warmth radiate through me at the way she took my arm. Together, we left the room, descending the stairs of the coven estate and gliding toward the vestibule as though the wind itself had guided us on our journey. Martin and Angela met us at the front doors and accompanied us outside, marveling with us over the chill which had overtaken Toronto as we strode toward a waiting taxi cab. As all of us settled inside, I stole a final glance at Monica, taking her hand as she offered it to me.
Light conversation, interspersed throughout our drive to the concert hall, helped the time pass without worry. When we arrived, Martin paid our fare, and I remained on high alert, watching Angela and Monica immerse within the crowd while I looked for any sign of her succumbing to bloodlust. Martin patted my shoulder when he rejoined us, attempting to say everything would be alright with the gesture. It was not until we had settled in our seats that I relaxed, however, and stole one last smile at Monica before the lights dimmed.
She smiled in delight when the music began to play.
Strauss echoed through the hall, the light sound of the strings and woodwinds gliding over us at first, a gentle caress which swiftly sprang into an impassioned melody. As the curtain rose, Monica nearly shifted to the edge of her seat, her attention focused completely on both the singing and the orchestral accompaniment. The performance remained the focal point of our conversation over drinks during intermission and when the lights flickered, indicating we should return to our seats, she lowered into hers and sank into the experience again.
I spent almost as much time watching her as I did the concert itself, exchanging smiles with her each time she glanced at me. When we stood to applaud the finale, we rose to our feet as one. Enthusiastic banter with Martin and Angela carried us from our seats to the congestion of people in the aisles. To her credit, Monica seemed undaunted.
As we exited the symphony hall, Martin and Angela strolled toward the edge of the sidewalk, looking for a passing taxi, while Monica turned to face me. One of her arms wrapped around my torso and I chuckled as she clasped my hand with hers and hummed the final tune which had been playing. My feet moved first, leading us in a disjointed waltz which prompted the music to stop. Monica laughed. “You need to get better about this if you’re going to demand that I lead,” she said.
“I promise to become an apt pupil,” I responded. I watched as a lazy smile crept across her lips and found myself mirroring it. “You did well tonight.”
“Good, I hoped that I’d made you proud.”
“Beyond proud. We will have to do this more often.”
“Maybe not too often.” Monica stole a glance at a small crowd of passersby, her gaze returning to me as her voice lowered. “Confidentially, I’m starving. It’s just easier for me to ignore.”
“Perhaps we can fetch you a snack.”
“That sounds like a terrific idea,” Martin chimed as he and Angela strode back to us. Our impromptu dance ended, both of us releasing our hold on each other in order to turn and face the couple. While Angela appeared distracted, glancing around at the others idly, Martin sighed and thrust his hands in his pockets. They both paused a few feet shy of us. “We might have to hoof it, anyway.”
“Cannot find an available taxi?” I asked.
“No, all of the humans are eating them up,” Angela said, a mischievous curl of her lips following the statement. The way she said it indicated she had chosen her words deliberately, as did the gaze she flicked in Monica’s direction. “Come on, lovely, let’s go and find us something to nibble on.”
Monica looked at me, hesitant, as Angela gripped her hand and tugged her away. As my wife’s hold on me slackened, she let herself be coaxed forward by the older vampire, an apologetic smile preceding her spiriting ahead with the persistent woman. I chuckled and Martin shook his head in my periphery. “When she gets it in her head, it’s tough to say no to her,” Martin noted.
We started a more sedate pace in their direction, allowing them to gain distance from us. I relaxed only when I heard peals of laughter coming from the pair, one of them distinctly belonging to Monica. “Are you speaking of mine or yours?” I asked, smirking at my new companion.
Martin laughed. “Both of them, I guess. Angie never shuts up about Monica, though. I think she has a candle for your girl.”
The admission struck me as strange. I glanced at Martin, who raised an eyebrow at me, an amused smile lingering on his face. “A candle?” I asked. “You mean that she has feelings for Monica?”
“More like a crush, I think,” he said with a shrug, sobering albeit only a little. “She hasn’t been with many girls and I think it’s something she didn’t let herself do much when she was a younger vampire. We came from a repressed era.”
“I think my brother could sympathize.” I continued eyeing Martin, somewhat incredulous. “That does not anger you?”
He barked a much more enthusiastic laugh. “Oh God, no. Angie’s her own woman and I respect her for that. Every now and then, she goes out to scratch that itch and comes right back home to me.” Martin chanced a glance at me. “To tell you the truth, I’ve liked the thought of her having a lover a little closer to home.”
“What an interesting notion.” Reaching into my pocket, I produced my pack of cigarettes, lighting one and offering it to Martin before fetching another one for myself. My silence must have borne conspicuous tones, rather than reflecting the thought of what it meant to be so comfortable with one’s partner as to share them with another. Martin sighed, prompting me to look at him again. “Is something wrong?” I asked.
“I’m realizing that you and your wife might not have the same policy,” he said. Drawing from his cigarette, he raised an eyebrow again.
I sighed and glanced heavenward for a moment, as though I could take counsel with heaven over the matters of the unholy. “Inherently, it does not bother me.” Softly, I chuckled. “Though it feels as if I should. You said the other night that I am young, and never does it come out more than when I am attempting to wrap my head around our social decorum.” I shot Martin a purposeful glance.
“Our social decorum? Please.” He shook his head, walking over to the side of a neighboring building and leaning his back against it. As I strode to make up the difference, Martin grinned. “Your home coven must have been one repressed bunch of bloodsuckers.”
I mirrored the way he smiled. “Yes, well, they were certainly the laziest. I don’t imagine they had a single debaucherous notion that did not involve lounging on their asses for the rest of eternity.” Lifting my cigarette to my mouth, I drew from it and exhaled a plume of smoke into the night air. “Though, I admit I did not know them well.”
“Maybe a little debauchery that you didn’t know about?”
“Not bloody likely. My maker liked them complacent.”
“Ah, that’s a shame, then.” He shrugged when my gaze fell to him again. “Well, if we don’t mind our ladies having a little fun, maybe we can start playing poker on the nights they want to be alone.”
I could not help but to laugh. “As long as poker is not a euphemism.”
He lifted both hands, motioning to speak when the sound of screaming interrupted him. We exchanged a look, and as we glanced in the direction from where the sound had come, a crashing noise followed, the cacophony resembling a thud against something metallic. Martin flicked away his cigarette and I did the same, running after him when he started a sprint toward where all of the commotion originated. I turned down one street with him, racing until we reached an adjacent alleyway and stopped abruptly.
The sight before us made my stomach turn.
Monica sat on the ground, her hands stained as red as her dress. Before her lay a corpse, and as my frantic eyes attempted to make sense of what had happened, I saw a confusing montag
e of imagery. Angela standing several feet away, her hand cupping her mouth. The bewildered expression on Monica’s face and the stains which covered her mouth and chin. She looked up at me and I froze, attempting several times to look her in the eyes before I could make mine cooperate.
A single tear rolled down her cheek, her mouth hanging agape. “I lost control,” she whispered. “Oh my God, Peter, what have I done?”
Chapter Six
Those words were to be her last for the evening. Monica entered a state of shock, returning with me to the coven estate after some gentle coaxing. I sat her in the bathroom and knelt before her, cleaning her hands and face while softly asking her to tell me what had happened. Her gaze failed to settle on me, her mind elsewhere, and when I could not draw the story out from her, I helped her undress and carried her into bed. She lay staring at the opposite wall while I pulled the comforter over her shoulders. As her eyes shut, I sighed and finally allowed myself to leave her side.
Dawn had yet to crest the horizon, though the hour had turned late. With heavy steps, I trudged to the room where Martin and Angela resided, knocking on the door while hoping one of them remained awake. Images of our walk home filled the space in-between, with Angela apologizing through a stream of tears and Martin attempting to calm her so I could focus on Monica. I sighed, responsibility settling on my shoulders again, only heavier than I remembered it being. By the time Martin opened the door, I thought I might collapse under its weight.
He frowned when our eyes met. “Hey, Peter, come in,” he said, stepping to the side to allow me entrance. I nodded as I strode past him, my eyes finding Angela. She had managed to change into comfortable clothing, and lay curled upon their couch. When her gaze met mine, something struck me about the look in her eyes, as if she thought I had come to render judgment. I smiled wanly, noting that even friends could not always look past the kind of being I was.
