by Amy Cross
"Rough old night, eh?" says a voice nearby. I turn to find that Wormwood has joined the table. Of all the people I'd rather not have to deal with right now, he's top of the list. "I must say," he continues, "you look rather peaky, Patrick. It's been a while since I last saw you, though. I'm sure time hasn't been much kinder to me, has it?"
"This is Mr. Wormwood," Gwendoline says, turning to Abigail. "He's a... Well, I'm not sure what he is, really. Mr. Wormwood, can you explain what it is you do, exactly?"
"I don't think I know myself," Wormwood replies with a grin. "I suppose I'm retired from something, although my memory isn't what it used to be and I'll be damned if I can remember what tricks I used to get up to." He leans over and whispers directly into my ear. "I must say, Patrick, you have two fine daughters here. Gwendoline seems a little sickly, but that Abigail is rather wonderful, and she's the spitting image of her mother."
The maids bring another course of food to the table, a process that takes several minutes and thereby serves as a useful distraction from this interminable conversation with Wormwood. I've never liked the man, having always seen him as a coward who flits from place to place with no sense of permanence. He's drawn to darkness, to pick over the bones of the dead. He was in the Nazi concentration camps during the Second World War, enjoying the suffering of others; later, he walked the streets of Nagasaki after the atom bomb was dropped; it's even rumored that he was in New Orleans when the levees broke, drinking cocktails as he watched the dead bodies float past. Still, he has seen a lot of the world, and his opinion might be useful. I certainly can't afford to ignore him entirely.
"It's very nice to meet you," Wormwood says, leaning across the table and shaking Abigail's hand. "I've heard a great deal about you."
"Like what?" she replies, looking a little concerned
"Oh, well, nothing much," he says. "Just that it was known you'd one day come to Gothos in your mother's footsteps. Sophie was such a wonderful girl, I always -"
"Yeah," Abigail says, interrupting Wormwood. "I get it. She was great."
"Oh, but she was," Wormwood continues. "She -"
"I get it!" Abigail says firmly, and it's clear from the look in her eyes that she'd rather change the subject.
I look down at my plate and smile. Already, Abigail is tiring of the constant mention of her resemblance to Sophie. That's a good thing. It's true that she looks like her mother, but beneath the surface - beneath the skin - her meat is made of stronger stuff. With every passing hour, I can feel Abigail growing stronger and more complete. At her age, I was an impetuous, hot-headed fool; Abigail, on the other hand, seems entirely level-headed. She might, in the past, have had a childish obsession with learning more about Sophie, but now she's past that phase and she's developing rapidly. Within twenty-four hours, her transformation should be complete and we'll be ready to leave Gothos forever. Once we're gone, this wretched place can fall to the ground as far as I'm concerned; and all the people left inside can die, since their time is over and they will serve no further purpose. Gothos is a shell of past glories, a reminder of a war that only I now remember; once I myself have passed on, Gothos will crumble to dust. The moment of truth draws near.
Gwendoline
"Do you want to go into the garden tonight?"
I turn to find that Abigail has come to join me. Dinner has been over for half an hour, and I've been sitting by the window, lost in my own thoughts as I stare out at the darkness that surrounds Gothos. I know so little about this land, but I know that there are things out there; things that crouch in the mountains and stare down at this house. When the war ended, Gothos was the only building left standing, which means that it's the only light to be seen. Like moths to a flame, creatures are drawn here, but they never come closer than the garden; when they get within a few hundred meters, they're struck by fear and they turn back. Most of them, anyway. Sometimes I think I see dark shapes moving a little closer; from time to time, I even see scratches on the window-frames.
"Are you really keen to go out there again?" I ask, surprised by her boldness.
"Sure," she says. "I let my imagination get the better of me last time. Anyway, I don't want to go far. Just out onto the platform, so we can look up at the night sky."
"Not this evening," I say. "It's so cold out there, and I'm a little tired. Maybe another time?" I smile awkwardly as I realize that I should stick to my original plan; Diana would be suspicious if she discovered that Abigail had gone outside again.
She shrugs. "I just thought things seemed a bit quiet around here. I mean, what exactly do you guys do for fun?"
She's right. Dinner was fairly sombre, with not much conversation. I tried to get people talking, but it was obvious that Patrick's frailty was bringing the atmosphere down. Now Diana and Patrick are alone in the drawing room, Wormwood is in the library, the maids are cleaning up, the ghosts are being quiet, and the house has fallen into a kind of hush. "I'm afraid you mustn't expect too much of us," I say to Abigail. "It's usually just Diana and me here. We do our best to entertain visitors, but we have such meager resources. I hope you're not too disappointed."
"No, it's fun," she replies. Turning back to look out the window, I realize after a moment that Abigail is still standing behind me. "You seem different," she says.
I smile. My plan is working. I made a mistake earlier today when I tried to lock Abigail out of the building; I made her suspicious of me, which means it'll be harder to get her to trust me tonight. Harder, but by no means impossible. I simply have to make her like me more, and that means appearing to be more thoughtful. It's a change I can handle easily enough. "The evenings do this to me," I say. "When the house is surrounded by total darkness, I start to think about all the things that are out there. I imagine all the eyes far away, looking down on this place."
"What kind of eyes?" she asks, stepping closer to the window.
I pause for a moment, figuring I might as well blend some truth in with the lies I'm telling tonight. "When the vampires were fighting, all sorts of other creatures came to join in. Some wanted to support one side or the other, some just enjoyed the carnage of war. Many of them were killed instantly, a few survived and ran away when all the vampires were dead. Some of these mercenaries remain nearby, watching for any sign that the war might continue. It won't, of course, but these are pitiful, war-ravaged creatures, desperate for more bloodshed. So they sit and they watch Gothos, hoping that there'll be another outbreak of violence. How many of them are left, I can't say, but I know they're out there. I feel their eyes burning into me every night."
"That thing I felt out in the garden earlier," she says, "was that one of them?"
"I don't know," I reply. "I wouldn't have thought they'd get so close to the house, but perhaps they sensed something different about you."
Abigail sits on the end of a nearby sofa. "Is it really just you and Diana here?" she asks.
"And the maids," I remind her. "Wormwood turns up from time to time as well."
"What about your parents?"
I take a deep breath. This plan is working perfectly. Now that I've forced myself to calm down and seem a little more introspective, Abigail clearly wants to spend time with me. I just need to be a little patient. "My mother died many years ago," I say. "She was..." I pause. My mother was human, perhaps not very different to Sophie, but I don't want to tell Abigail everything; not right now, at least. "She was old," I say finally. "And my father, well, I don't know much about him."
"Was he human?" she asks.
"Perhaps," I say. How I'd love to see the look on her face if I could tell her that Patrick is my father, but some secrets are worth keeping. The time will come when she can learn all of that; by then, though, she'll be safely out of the way. "I don't really like talking about them, though. It pains me to think that I was never able to have a normal relationship with either of them."
"But your father took you hunting," she says. "You told me that."
"A long time ago," I reply.
It's true: back when Patrick thought I might be the one to succeed him, he spent time with me and tested me. It didn't take long for him to realize that I'm weak and pathetic, and then he dropped me immediately. I've barely seen him since. "As I said," I continue, "I'd prefer not to talk about my parents, if that's okay with you? I'm perfectly happy here with Diana. She takes awfully good care of me, even if she's a little strict sometimes."
"Is she your aunt?" Abigail asks.
I shake my head. "No, she's just... well, she's the closest I have to family, I suppose. She maintains the house perfectly, even if there's no-one here. I hate to think how she'll manage when she's all alone, but I suppose she'll be happy enough. She might even decide to board the place up and go somewhere else. It's such a large house, and it feels awfully empty at times."
"Are you going somewhere?"
"I'm minded to leave soon," I tell her, careful not to smile too much. "I've spent my whole life here, and I'd rather like to see the world from which you came. Perhaps I won't like it much, but I feel I should explore a little. After all, it sounds terribly exciting, and I'd hate to spend my whole life within these four walls, rattling about like one of the ghosts. Believe me, it can be a little difficult to fill one's day around this old place when one doesn't have visitors. That's why I'm so grateful that you're here." I pause for a moment, deciding that now is the time to casually mention the room upstairs. "Sometimes, I get so bored, I even find myself wondering up to the forbidden room. I put my ear to the door and listen, hoping to hear something, but I suppose the ghosts refuse to whisper unless there's someone actually in there with them."
"What's in the forbidden room?" she asks.
I glance across to the door, to make sure Diana's nowhere nearby. "It's a room upstairs," I say. "It's the one room in the whole house that even Diana dares not enter. They say... well, I've heard such terrible things about it." I wait a moment, hoping that I've piqued her interest sufficiently. In my experience, humans have a natural sense of curiosity that often leads them into terrible trouble; I only hope that there's enough humanity still in Abigail's soul to make her want to know more about the room. If I push her too fast, she'll sense a trap.
"What kind of terrible things?" she asks.
I shake my head. "Please don't ask. I should never have mentioned it to you. Just forget I said anything."
"Tell me," she insists.
"I can't, I..." I pause, carefully giving the impression that I'm having doubts. Oh, I'm such a good little actress. Perhaps, when I reach the human world, I should be on the stage? I shall have to go to Broadway and investigate my options. "I just can't. It would be wrong. There are some things that should remain unmentioned."
She smiles. "Well you have to tell me now."
Perfect. She's being so human. A vampire would be cautious and wouldn't get involved without good reason, but Abigail's human side compels her to find out more. It's her human side that will prove to be her Achilles heel. "They say that everyone who enters the room is confronted by a ghost," I say. "Each person gets a different ghost, based on their own history. It's said that in every case, the ghost is someone significant who died earlier in that person's life. So, for example, I might meet my mother in the room. Her name was Cassandra, but I never met her. That's why I loiter by the door sometimes, daring myself to turn the handle, but I can't summon the courage. The thought of entering the darkness and having my mother come toward me is too much to bear. I can't imagine what she might say to me. I suppose I'm weak in that way." I pause, staring down at my hands for a moment before eventually glancing over at Abigail; I see immediately that she's taking the bait. Any moment now, she'll ask to be taken to the room.
"A ghost?" she says.
"Of someone important from your past." I pause. "Is there someone from your past, Abigail? Someone who died, perhaps? Someone important you'd like to speak to?"
She swallows hard. "Does it have to be someone I've met before?"
"I don't think so," I say. "The way I was told the story, all the ghosts fight among themselves, and the strongest gets to speak to you. Well, not the strongest necessarily, but the one who's most important to you." I smile as I continue to lure Abigail closer and closer to the trap. "It's said that in the old days, the vampire leaders would go to the room in order to speak to their predecessors. Some of them even spoke to Gothos himself. But really, Abigail, you must forget I said anything. There must be a good reason for Diana to keep that room hidden away from guests. I get the impression that she and Patrick were most keen to ensure you didn't learn about any of this. I should never have opened my big mouth."
Abigail stares at the window for a moment. "Is it possible that Sophie would be there?" she asks.
"It's possible," I reply, feeling the trap closing around my poor, doomed sister. I've found the one thing she wants, and I'm using it to lure her to her death.
"Show me," she says.
"Show you?"
"Show me the room," she says, her voice quivering slightly.
"Goodness, no!" I reply, acting as if it's the most astonishing suggestion in the world. I have to put up a fight, to resist for a while. "I could never do that! Diana has always told me never, ever to go near that room unless -"
"You've disobeyed Diana before," Abigail replies, interrupting me.
"And look how that ended," I say. "No, I can't possibly do it. If she caught us, she'd be so angry."
"Show me."
I shake my head.
"Gwendoline, please! If you're right about that room, it might be the only chance I ever get to speak to..." She pauses. "Please, at least tell me how to get there. Just show me the way, and I'll go alone. If you don't, I swear to God, I'll go to ever door in the entire house until I find the right one."
I take a deep breath. As I expected, Abigail's desperation to see her mother's ghost is leading her to make foolish choices. She should know better than to trust me, but I've found the one thing that causes her passions to override her mind. "I don't know," I say, checking again that Diana is nowhere nearby. "There are no guarantees, Abigail. You can't know for certain whose ghost you'll see. It might be -"
"There's only one person it could be," she says firmly. "There's only one person who's ever died who means that much to me. It has to be my mother."
"You might not like what she says," I warn her. "You mustn't blame me if she says cruel things to you. I've heard rumors that the ghosts can be bitter at times, and angry."
"I need to see her," Abigail says, standing up. "If you won't show me, I'll go and find it myself."
"No!" I say. "I'll show you. I just need you to promise that you'll never, ever tell Diana that I've even mentioned the room's existence. Promise me that."
"I promise."
Reaching out and taking her hand, I lead her away from the window. "We must be quick," I say. "If one of the maids sees us, she'll tell Diana and it'll be all over. She'll lock me in my room until you're gone. If there's -" Suddenly I hear voices ahead of us, and I pull Abigail to one side. Footsteps pass by in the next room. Fortunately, it's just two of the maids hurrying to the dining room. "Wait a moment," I whisper to Abigail, my heart pounding as I listen to the maids getting further and further away. "Okay, come with me," I hiss, once again leading Abigail by the hand. I take her through the billiards room and around to one of the smaller sets of stairs.
"How long do I get to be in the room?" she asks as we run up, taking two steps at a time.
"Just a few minutes," I say. "The longer you wait, the more likely it'll be that Diana will start wondering where we are. I hope you appreciate the risk I'm taking for you." We run along one of the corridors; as soon as I see the door up ahead, I stop and turn to Abigail. "I have to ask you one more time," I say. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
She nods. There's clearly no doubt in her mind at all.
"And you do this willingly?" I continue. "You're not being pressured or forced in any way?"
"I have to see her,"
she says. For a moment, it's almost as if there are tears in her eyes. She must have longed to meet her mother all her life and now - finally - she's just a few steps away from the moment of truth. That's what she thinks, anyway.
"Follow me," I say, leading her along the corridor until we reach the door at the far end. She immediately reaches out for the handle, but I pull her arm away. "There are rules," I say. "You must follow them carefully, do you understand?" I pause for a moment. "You mustn't stay too long in there, or you're liable to get us both caught. Also, you mustn't anger the ghost. And finally..." I take her hands in mine. "And finally, dearest Abigail, you must try not to let your heart be broken. I know you've waited so long to meet your mother. This is a moment of destiny for both of you, I'm quite sure, but you mustn't be upset if you're met instead by another ghost."
"It has to be her," she replies. There are definitely tears in her eyes now. "I can sense her. She's close."
For a moment, I almost feel sorry for poor dear Abigail. She's so certain that this is the moment she'll meet Sophie, she's managed to trick herself into believing that she can feel her mother's spirit close by. Again, a vampire would never be so easily fooled, but humans are capable of deceiving themselves with remarkable vehemence. She might have many qualities of a vampire, but at heart Abigail remains controlled by her human side.
"Good luck," I say. "You can enter the room when you're ready. Just... please remember to only stay in there for a few minutes."
She stares at the door, almost as if she's scared to make the move. She looks absolutely terrified.
"It's okay," I continue. "Look." Reaching down, I turn the handle and push the door open, revealing the dark interior of the room. "The ghost won't appear until you're inside," I tell her. "Don't be scared. Nothing in there can hurt you."
Taking a deep breath, she steps forward, entering the gloomy interior. "I don't see anything," she says, her voice sounding so tense and scared.
