“He will be just fine, thank you,” I replied, handing her cash. “Keep the change.”
I placed the steaming brew before him and he straightened up, smelling the brown liquid as he took the cup. “What are you doing here,” he asked.
“What are you doing here,” I returned. “Judith’s waiting for you.”
“I know,” he said between sips. “I think she killed my student,” he whispered.
“I think she has done more than that,” I told him.
“What do you mean?” he asked. “And how did she kill him, Bree?” His voice was warming with the espresso.
“Quiet down,” I urged him. “She told you, Colin.”
“Oh, right,” he chuckled. “She is a vampire. Bree, please be straight with me. My father speaks highly of you, of Aleksandra and Wesley. Stop lying to me and covering for her, it only makes you an accomplice. What I saw tonight,” he began, “was that poison or a small gun in her pocket with a silencer?”
“First, he is not dead,” I told him. “Aleksandra would have taught her not to kill unless she needed to. Second, Colin, your daughter is a vampire.”
“Bree,” he began, but I shushed him.
“Colin, Aleksandra did not cure Judith with a treatment, she cured her by turning her undead.”
“Really? And how did Aleksandra become a vampire?” he said, sipping his espresso, not believing me; not wanting to believe me.
“I turned her,” I told him. “Her father was a Russian prince and he passed away. When Aleksandra came of age, she wished for this curse. Do not ask me why.”
“Have I officially cracked up now?” he asked. “I would have to be a bona-fide whack job to believe you!”
“I am being completely serious and honest with you.” I pressed my back against the wall. The students remained hunched over their work, oblivious to the bizarre nature of our conversation. “Why would I make this up? What would I gain?”
“Judith must want something,” he replied. “I may be her father, but I cannot lie for her.”
“She wants her father’s love!” I attested, firmly. A few eyes diverted from their laptop screens, but quickly returned to their studying. “And she desperately needs it right now. You do not realize it, and I know she doesn’t, but your daughter just made some powerful enemies.”
“The police? Of course, she did, and rightfully so, Bree.”
I shook my head. “What do you mean, then?” he asked. He drained the last sip from his espresso and placed the cup on its saucer. He scooted the dish to the table’s edge, signaling to the barista to fetch the soiled porcelain.
I waited until she left, then lowered my voice and leaned across the table toward him. “I came to see you tonight because a friend of mine worked with your father a while back to steal something from the Vatican. Your father gave this item to me before he retired and now the Vatican wants it back,” I told him.
“Well, give it back,” he said. His eyes shifted about the room.
“It is not that easy and I cannot tell you why,” I replied. “My friend came to me tonight; he said the Vatican had Judith here in Chicago. That is why I came to your apartment.”
“They had Judith?” he asked. His voice seethed with fatherly concern.
“Because Judith’s a vampire now, they must think she is linked to this thing too. They wanted the amulet your father stole from the Vatican collection,” I explained.
“You are back to this vampire concept, then?” he asked.
“It is not a concept, Colin!” My frustration grew more each moment he argued with me. Most people feared me once they learned the truth; I had never had someone argue the existence of my kind to my face in this manner.
“Yes, I understand,” he began. “I have seen the television special on cable. It is a religion now. Or, excuse me, an alternative lifestyle. Whatever,” he waved his hand in mini circles near my face, “Do you drink blood or suck people’s happy thoughts? Is that what she does now, Bree? She kills for blood?”
Seeing no other way to get through to him, I stood and moved to his side. Tugging at his collar, he rose from the chair; his face contorted. “What are you doing?” he asked, bewildered.
“I am answering your question,” I told him. “I suggest you do not fight it, or this will hurt.”
My arm embraced him, my strength surprising him as he struggled. My finger grazed against his stubble as I traced his jaw line, slowly moving to the jugular. It pulsated beneath my cold touch, the rushing blood a symphony to my ears.
I bent my head, licked the saltiness from his neck, and whispered, “Have you figured out which type of vampire I am?” Choosing a small patch of skin over his pulsating jugular, near the shoulder line where the neck was tender, I sucked until it was pink and then sunk my teeth into waiting the flesh.
The blood flooded my mouth as images invaded my brain. A young Colin skipping rocks on the pond, climbing trees and learning Greek. There were flashes of college, of falling in love in Paris. These were followed by him and Morgan getting married, then came children and teaching, and divorce. His blood sang to me, played with me, danced with me. His blood calmed me.
Drinking from him was like drinking from a brother until I started pulling away. There was a flash from a winter’s gala at the Field Museum, a political fundraiser. This was shortly after I awoke and I was new to Chicago, new to this new age. He walked up to me that night, we shared a dance; and when he asked for my phone number, I fled. A dozen long stem roses and the W.B. Yeats poem ‘The Song of Wandering Aengus,’ scrawled in freehand, surprisingly arrived two days later from a secret admirer.
“And someone had called me by my name,” I said as I withdrew. I was dazed from his blood, and from his secrets.
“It had become a glimmering girl,” he whispered, slumping into the chair. “How could you not know it was me?”
“Aleksandra told you my favorite poet.” I glanced around the coffee shop. The students remained locked in their studies, the barista smiled at us. “Clever girl, but she never signed your name. I had no idea who the flowers and poem were from.”
Grabbing his coat from a nearby hook, I tossed it to him. “How do you feel? We need to get back to Judith. She is in grave trouble, Colin, and I do not think she realizes how serious this is.”
“Wait,” he said, grabbing onto my arm. He glanced around and then leaned in. “Am I, you know, a vampire now, too?”
“You are so daft.”
The barista smiled as we walked past the counter. “Way to go, professor!” she remarked. A few of Colin’s students whistled as we walked out, the door swinging behind us.
“You seem to be popular, now,” I told him.
“It seems so.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
The years I have lived have taught me one thing, survival wears down, and it does not build up. I used to tout that nothing could weaken us. That the years and the blood would strengthen us; provide us with knowledge and power. That, I now know, is an illusion.
From the outside, we appear omnipotent, godlike to mere mortal beings. Yet we are just as shallow and scared as humankind is. We walk the same streets, cowering in the same shadows. We fear being discovered, having our miserable lives snuffed by the sun’s golden rays. Despite the fact we are miserable, as you are, we would not willingly step into the sun. No more than you would willingly step off a bridge or put a bullet to your head. We have no desire to end this existence, and so we cower in fear that that thin veil between our worlds will be pulled away.
What would happen then? Would humankind accept us? Not a vampire culture that Hollywood has mass-produced, where vampires are cuddled and coddled, and sparkle with ripped abs, romanticized and adored as playthings for a bored public. Or the subculture where teens drink from pricked skin while lying atop tombstones, gowned in morbid black clothing, their faces painted grim shades of gray and white, as they sip wine and read Gothic poetry – paying homage to god’s Poe and Byron. What would happen if
society were introduced to real vampirism, to our power and knowledge? Could it handle that? Could we survive that?
The past four weeks leading up to tonight have moved in rapid succession. As much as I have tried to stop the inevitable, this is the only conclusion I have arrived at. My dear family – and all who may come to read this tale: When you read what is to follow, please remember I have meant no one during this journey harm. I should have died mercifully in that convent with Sister Veronica and the other sisters. I should still be asleep. I should not be here now, and this is not my war. But I am ending it. Tonight.
Please forgive me.
Please. Forgive me.
The window was still open as we neared his apartment, the glow of Colin’s headlight glinting off the glass. Judith was still there, as I had instructed. She sat on the couch, patiently waiting. Let me do the talking, I had insisted. He was still too stunned to protest. How he had managed to drive the three blocks to the apartment astounded me, but he had insisted on doing so.
Judith remained seated when I flipped the living room light switch. She met her father’s dazed glare then turned away, pain seethed underneath her determined brow. Colin sat down across from her in a broken down recliner, his eyes downcast.
“Judith, you have put your father in danger coming here.” I removed the pizza box and sat down between them on the edge of the coffee table.
“They said he had it, Bree,” she said. “I didn’t even know what they were talking about! But they said if I could get it, bring it to them, they would not kill him. And I thought, well, if they were going to kill him, I wanted him to know the truth. I wanted to meet their demands and save him! Would you not have done the same?”
“Kill me?” he asked. His startled eyes stared into hers and then into mine.
“He does not have it,” I told her. “Colin, they don’t want you,” I assured him, “They think they want you, but you have nothing of value to them.”
Colin slumped into the recliner, the leather crackling beneath him. “What do they want?” he said.
“This,” I said grabbing the amulet from my pocket, holding it out to show him. The dim lighting did not do the amulet justice and the jewels surrounding the portrait barely sparkled. I shoved it back into my pocket as he reached for it.
“What is that, Bree?” Judith asked.
“Those men want that awfully bad. They knew they were capturing a vampire, and still they were persistent. It must be worth a lot to them,” she said.
“It is a good luck charm; that is all the information I have.” The hardness of the amulet paralleled the truth; the Vatican would not stop until they had it back.
She stood from the couch. “They did not let me go, Bree.” She turned her back on me. “I had to kill my way through five men. They were going to kill me! I had no choice! What is Aleksandra going to say?”
“She will be proud,” I whispered. I stood and embraced her as she trembled in my arms. Colin sat, his jaw slack, his eyes widened. “We all have to kill, eventually; no matter what she has taught you. But we must choose to do so discreetly, and for the right reasons. Those men, Judith, they were dangerous. They were bringing this on themselves, and they knew that.”
“They were from the Vatican, Bree!” she remarked. Her voice quivered. “Men of God! Whether you believe or not, those are powerful people and an enemy I do not wish to have.”
“Nor do I,” I replied, “But we have no choice, thanks to Aksel? He brought this amulet into our lives. And he has created this mess, and, like always, I have to clean it up!”
She ran her hands through her hair, loosening the tight ponytail and tossing the hair band onto the floor. Ash blonde, shoulder length locks fell as she scratched at her temples.
“Where do we even begin?” she asked. “I can take you back to their hotel but they are all dead. The rest are in Rome, at least that’s what I gathered.”
“I am not going near Rome. If they want this amulet, they have to come and get it,” I said.
“This is unreal, just think for a minute,” Judith noted. “That’s no good luck charm, Bree. The Vatican’s acting as if you hold Armageddon in your hands.”
“I am beginning to think you’re right, but I have never been able to get the truth from Aksel,” I admitted. “To be honest, I do not believe he knows what it truly does. He believes it is powerful, and from what I can tell, the Vatican does as well. But why? I have no clue!”
“One of them was on the phone,” she said. “Whoever’s behind this is convinced that trinket is a key of some sort.”
“A key?” I asked.
“That’s all I heard,” she said. “A man’s voice, in Italian, ‘Get the key!’”
Judith paced over to the window and looked out onto the now vacant street. “If we are going to move him to your place, now is the time. He is going to be safest there; do you agree?” she asked.
I glanced at Colin. His head hung, his chin gracing his chest, his tired eyes reddened from the tears. The heaviness gracing his face was familiar; it showed a burden drenched in despair, in fear, and in pain. He had appeared this way sitting next to Judith’s hospital bed the night before Aleksandra turned her. Seeing him like this was agony.
“Am I going to die?” his voice cracked.
Judith turned and rushed to her father’s side as his body trembled, the shock of revelation wearing off. Reality now stung through with its icy tentacles; it was time for him to leave the old, naïve, safe world behind.
“Am I going to die?” he asked again. “Be honest with me.”
“Not as long as we are with you,” I replied.
Outside, Colin’s hands trembled as he reached for the door handle. Judith snatched the Lexus’s keys from her father’s hands and steered him toward the back. Besides the vacation cabin on Lake Placid, the sleek, silver Lexus was the only luxury item Colin managed to walk away with in the divorce settlement.
Colin sat silently in the back, his hands cupped in his lap, his bottom lip curled beneath his teeth. I climbed into the front beside Judith as we pulled out of the apartment building and eased away from the campus area. It was late that evening and campus security was in full patrol.
No one spoke until we were on the Dan Ryan Expressway. A drizzling of rain collected on the windshield, enough to run the wipers, and enough to break the silence.
“Why do they want you?” Colin asked me. The back seat was pitched black, his voice rising from the shadows. The occasional headlight betrayed his existence. “What could you have done to the Vatican?”
“The Vatican,” I began, but I could not answer him. How could I begin to answer such a complicated question? “They do not want me, Colin.” I tried to clarify, “They want Aksel. Or they want the amulet. I’m not sure which anymore.”
“Then why do they not just go and get him and leave us alone? Or you can hand over the amulet?” Judith asked. She was passing a semi trailer and swerving into heavy traffic. She flicked on the radio and hit scan. The radio ran through the stations, blurring random strings of talk and music, until a weather report caught her attention and she smacked the scan button once more. The meteorologist was calling for a thunderstorm with golf ball sized hail.
“Of course, we get caught out in this. Why did we not fly him in, Bree?” she whispered beneath the drone of rain pelting the glass.
“That is what he needed, because he is not spooked enough, Judith,” I remarked.
“You still did not answer my question,” she demanded as she swerved in front of a late model Jeep. The Jeep beeped and slammed on its brakes. “Why not give Aksel up?”
“Judith, we are not going to need the Vatican to kill your father with the way you are driving! Slow down!”
Judith eyed the rearview mirror, then her side mirror. She made a shape right off onto the shoulder and turned the headlights off. “Dad. Bree. Do. Not. Move,” she whispered. She and I watched through the side mirrors as a car parked behind us. It turned its engines
off and waited. Minutes passed and then three figures stepped from the car and began walking through the storm toward our car. Judith placed her fingers on the keys, started the car, and sped into traffic.
Our lights were not on as Judith swerved onto the Dan Ryan. A flash of lightning blazed the sky a yard away, blinding the teenage girl driving the minivan behind us. She had been going fifteen over the speed limit already, too fast in this weather to avoid hitting us. The front end of the minivan collided with the back of the Lexus, flipping the town car up and over the slippery road. We flipped into the air and rolled over a semi-truck and four cars before coming to rest in an embankment.
“Colin,” I shouted into the Lexus as I climbed from it. We flew out into the dark, stormy night as the vehicle flipped and rolled over the cars. “Colin!”
Judith struggled with her father, trying to free him from the back seat, but could not. The backdoors were stuck, smashed from impact. The gnarled metal mixed with shards of glass and beading rain as cars slowed to avoid the scene. Skidding tires met with a symphony of horns and shouts from cars down the road, a couple passerbies running to help.
Neither of us could pull him over the backseats in time, his unconscious body slumped and freely rolling in the rear of the car. At the last minute, against her will, I pulled Judith from the car, leaving Colin for dead.
She screamed into the air, her voice a primal howl into blurring traffic whizzing by. She shoved past me and sat down in the grassy ditch off the side of the freeway. We were safely removed from the wreckage, but still close enough to see the sparks as they freed Colin from the car; and as the paramedics worked on his body. They were inserting an intravenous line in his arm and securing his neck with a cervical collar. Lights and sirens painted the night sky. Traffic stopped, and, even with the rain, people stood outside their cars gawking at the wreckage.
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