An Ever Fixéd Mark

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An Ever Fixéd Mark Page 40

by Jessie Olson


  “What do you want from me?” Lizzie saw the grand house.

  “Isn’t the question, Elizabeth, what you want from me?”Claire shut off the car and locked eyes again.

  Lizzie swallowed, unable to answer. Claire smirked and left the car, leading the way up the front path into the house. They left their coats in a carefully decorated foyer, and walked past darkened rooms from which Lizzie briefly observed pristine furniture and immaculate carpets. Claire suddenly stopped and entered a darkened space with lots of books. It smelled more like the Fulton House than the modern décor of the other rooms they passed. The books were old… like Ben’s. There were shelves from floor to ceiling full of them. An elaborately carved desk was at the back of the room. In the center were two high backed couches.

  Claire turned on the light and glanced back at Lizzie. “Are you hungry? Or thirsty? Some water perhaps?” she smiled. Lizzie knew there wasn’t going to be an offer for wine. Maybe water would be a good idea.

  Claire left the room quickly, leaving Lizzie to admire the shelves and read the bindings. American fiction from the 19th century. Alcott. Hawthorne. Twain. She pulled out a volume of Emerson and read the first page of Self-Reliance.

  “This is my favorite room,” the amber eyes stepped across the threshold and held out a glass of water. “It reminds me of my husband.”

  “Where is your husband?” Lizzie wondered if he was in college too.

  The strong dark eyes shifted. “He died.”

  “How did he die?” Lizzie drank some water to swallow the regret of her reactionary thought.

  “Stupidity,” she swallowed. “Or arrogance. I change my mind every day.”

  “Oh.”

  Claire eyed her momentarily then took in a breath. “This room is cold. I am going to start a fire,” she went to a fireplace between the tall bookshelves. Lizzie was impressed how quickly she lit the large logs and created a warm blaze.

  “How old are you?” Lizzie found herself admiring her perfect figure again.

  “I was 18 when I changed,” she rolled back on her feet and stood up.

  “Do you feel that young?”

  “Some days,” she eyed Lizzie and took a few steps towards her. “Mostly it’s a strange in between. Not old enough to be old. Not young enough to be young.”

  “When did you change?”

  “1968.”

  “You could be my mother,” Lizzie tried not to confuse herself with the fact that physically she could be Claire’s.

  “I suppose I could,” Claire’s grin curved wickedly. “It’s all relative, don’t you think?”

  Lizzie tried to smile back, but nerves weakened her knees. She went to one of the high backed couches and looked at the fire. “Did your husband change you?”

  “He did.”

  “You were in love with him?”

  “Yes,” Claire softened her voice and sat slowly beside Lizzie. “We were together for more than forty years.”

  “What happened to him?” Lizzie felt rude, but she still didn’t know if she should even care about offending that woman.

  “He fed from a tainted source long before I met him. He was able to clean up his blood. But the fool drank bad blood two years ago. He got ill again and died.”

  “Tainted... by what? Lead?”

  “Yes,” Claire looked at the cracking flames. “He fed from someone living in an old house. He should have known to consider the paint.”

  “What did that do to him?”

  “Burnt up in the sunlight. Just like some old novel,” Claire turned back to Lizzie. “But it’s done. I can’t undo that.”

  “Have you been with anyone else since he died?”

  “A lover?” the wicked laugh focused on Lizzie.

  Lizzie felt the pace of her heart increase. “You chose forever but you lost it.”

  “I will see him again,” Claire smiled confidently.

  “What do you mean?” Lizzie’s heart leaped.

  “We can talk about that later,” Claire touched Lizzie’s hair. “You ran today.”

  Lizzie’s body tensed as she saw the hunger in the eyes. “Yes.”

  Claire slid her finger along Lizzie’s ear and rested on her pulse. “You like giving blood?”

  “I do,” Lizzie met the hungry eyes.

  “I did, too,” Claire moved her hand away from her pulse and started to unbutton Lizzie’s sweater.

  Lizzie slid off the sleeves of her sweater and watched the long fingers start at the buttons of her blouse. “Is the sensation of taking it better?” Lizzie stopped her and looked back at the dark eyes.

  “It’s different,” Claire froze close to Lizzie, so close that Lizzie was taking her breath and giving it back. “But not better.”

  “Do you miss giving life to him? To the one you love?”

  Claire pulled a little further back, still eyeing Lizzie. “Yes. Do you?”

  Lizzie shut her eyes, feeling a storm of thoughts fill her head and spin her around. “Yes.”

  She opened her eyes and saw the dark eyes waiting. Claire bowed over the curve of her shoulder. Lizzie felt the softness of her lips press against her pulse and then pull away. The air felt cool against the skin where Claire kissed her. She waited for her to bend over her neck again but saw the dark eyes meet her own once more.

  Lizzie allowed her to push her shoulders gently back against the couch. She looked up at the shadows of the ceiling as Claire traced the curve of her body with her warm breath. She didn’t move as the vampire felt for the zipper of her jeans and pulled them off her legs. The coldness of the air disappeared as the breath warmed the top of her thigh and the long black hair brushed across her knee. Lizzie deepened her lungs when suddenly she felt the fangs strike the vein beneath her left hip. She felt a rush of blood coursing to her pelvis. The color of the ceiling warmed into a blurred focus as her breaths heaved from the base of her stomach.

  She saw Claire’s satisfied smile appear above her eyes. She sensed a warm kiss atop her forehead and felt the whisper, but didn’t hear it. Lizzie closed her eyes and let the smile and color of the ceiling and the rush of blood all blend into darkness.

  *****

  The ferry faded into the shadows. The moonlight was obscured by the increasing clouds, leaving a murky reflection of the sky on the river. She knew the rain was coming. She smelled it in the air. It would be a relief to the heat of the past several days, a relief to her mind that was as crowded with thoughts as the house was crowded with guests when she left.

  Her heart skipped as she thought of the brother. His eyes never stopped following her. Not even when it was evident the new Mrs. Fulton wanted him to direct his attention towards Harriet. Harriet was too young for those green eyes.

  He came from the shadows of the trees, still dressed in his layered suit. His broad hat shielded the green eyes. She knew it was him. He had the white rose in his hand. She commented about the weather. That it was about to rain. He said he didn’t care. She watched him loosen his cravat before taking a seat beside her. She let him take her hand as she talked of the wedding. He didn’t care about her gossip. He didn’t care about the river or the darkening sky.

  He lifted her hand and kissed it. She didn’t giggle or blush as all those silly girls. It was an endearing kiss, but not the most passionate she knew. He understood that. He was aware of her stained soul. She knew he wanted more than just a kiss on the back of her hand.

  He set her palm back down on the log and walked away. The skies opened up and rattled with thunder when she stood to follow him. The water blinded her eyes. She couldn’t see but felt the cloth of her dress press against her skin. As she drew in a breath and tried to discern the shadows from the trees and his dark figure, strong arms lifted her off the ground. The water dripped from the rim of his hat down along her nose. He carried her until suddenly the rain stopped blinding her sight.

  They were under the awning of the ferryman’s cottage. He let her down slowly, keeping his arm against her waist
. Her stomach was close enough to feel the buttons of his heavy coat. She saw the green eyes again, level with her own. She drew in a breath and pressed her lips to his. She felt her whole body warm with his kiss, drowning out the chill of the rain. She opened her lips as he lifted his hands to her wet hair. She reached for the coat of his suit and then his vest, but stopped when something cut inside her mouth. She pulled away and saw the intensity of his green eyes watching her. He opened his mouth to a hungry grin, revealing teeth that were sharper than any human teeth should be.

  She stepped back. He was not… he was not human. He could hurt her. Fear overcame her as she understood why he was there, why he looked at her, what he wanted from her body. Those green eyes that followed her to the garden, that made her laugh… those green eyes froze against her own. She couldn’t move or speak a word but felt the look of that stare. His eyes were not like those of young Mr. Fulton, full of hate and disgust for his desire. The green eyes looked at her with something else. Something that wasn’t monstrous. The eyes were as human and full of yearning as her own. She knew those eyes. She knew them a long time before and would know them forever. She dared herself to move back to his embrace. She lifted her chin away from him to expose her neck. He pulled her back to a kiss and brought her into the cottage.

  *****

  The sound of the fire cracking alerted her eyes to open. She saw the shadows of the flame dance on the ceiling. Lizzie slowly took in the details of the room, remembering the dark library and the dark haired beauty who brought her there. She shifted herself to sitting, causing a blanket to slide off her onto the floor. She felt the cold air, in spite of the fire. Her jeans were neatly arranged on the opposite couch. She stood slowly to retrieve them, feeling the gradual return of blood to her brain. She glanced down at her thigh, seeing the two marks inside her left hip. She touched them briefly, not feeling the pain she always expected from those wounds. She gave another shudder from the cold and quickly replaced her jeans.

  She went to the fireplace to absorb some more of its heat. She needed to dry off. No. No, that was a dream. She shook her head and looked at the mantelpiece. There was an ornate wooden clock and several small statues. A sword hung from chains beneath the shelf. Something from the Revolution. Something the Fulton House would relish as an acquisition. She peevishly touched the metal, knowing Claire wouldn’t chide her for leaving fingerprints.

  She jumped as she heard the door close. Claire walked into the room with a pitcher of water and a warm smile. “You closed your eyes and went somewhere else.”

  Lizzie watched her refill her glass and took a sip quickly. She didn’t know what Claire expected her to say, if she expected her to say anything at all.

  “That happened to me. Alec brought me to a party. I took something that made me out of my mind. I hooked up with a Harvard law student. That’s all I knew. Not even his name. Then I went home and dreamt about him for weeks. Not about that night that I hardly remembered. It was more vivid than any dream I had. I heard things and smelled them. I remembered the feel of fabrics… and I knew from the design of those fabrics it was a different time.”

  “You,” Lizzie set down the glass, as so many ideas rose to her lips. “You knew him before?”

  “I didn’t understand it until he showed up at another party three months later. We barely spoke. That time he took my blood. I had another dream when I realized I was his lover in England in 1601.”

  “I knew… I knew Ben before.”

  “Did you see him just now?”

  “I was me. But not me,” Lizzie watched her go to a cupboard and get a small tin canister, a green bottle, and a spoon. She sat on the floor as she settled everything on the table before Lizzie.

  “Mmm,” Claire opened the pretty green bottle and poured some liquid into the empty water goblet. She looked up at Lizzie. “Were you happy?”

  “I…” Lizzie sighed. “I was happy when I was with him. As me. Elizabeth Watson.”

  “But you are not with him. You just fed me. What happened?” Claire rested the spoon on top of the glass. She concentrated on the spoon and pulled a sugar cube from the tin canister.

  “There was another vampire.”

  “Was he in the past as well?” Claire poured some water over the sugar cube.

  “Yes,” Lizzie watched the liquid in the glass foam into a cloud.

  Claire lifted her eyes to study Lizzie’s expression as she searched her mind for something. “There was another of Charlotte Fulton’s. Was that him?”

  “You knew Charlotte?”

  “Matthew spoke of her. She’s gone, isn’t she?”

  “She was in the past,” Lizzie still looked at the cloud in the goblet. “But I never see her.”

  “Three vampires?” Claire’s grin shined with the giddiness of her body’s youth.

  “No,” Lizzie shut her eyes. “One of them became… he was cursed because of me.”

  The giddy expression fell from Claire’s eyes. “It is a curse.”

  “I didn’t mean that.”

  Claire lifted the glass and sat beside Lizzie. She shifted the hair that fell in front of Lizzie’s forehead. “No wonder your eyes are sad.”

  “I love Ben. I know I loved him then. But I ruined another life. And I think I must pay for it.”

  Claire handed her the goblet. “You have free will, Elizabeth. You have determination to change your physical self. Don’t you think you have the will to overcome this?”

  Lizzie fingered the cool goblet and met the dark eyes. “I… I’m not sure.”

  “Drink that. Maybe you will see the answer.”

  Lizzie took a small sip and rested the glass on her knee. Claire said nothing. Lizzie didn’t know what else to say without further pushing her sanity on the subject of Ben. The silence in the room deepened, only disturbed by the cracking of logs on the fireplace. In agitation, she took another deep swallow of the cloudy liquid.

  “I feel like I’m living that other life,” Lizzie broke the silence with her mindless sigh.

  “Do you want to change that?”

  “I don’t want to be a servant for the rest of my life.”

  “Then don’t be.”

  Lizzie looked at the remainder of the green cloud.

  “You have the determination to run a marathon. Why can’t you determine a new path?”

  “I always end up with the same people. I don’t know if I want anyone else,” Lizzie met the dark eyes and took the last of the green liquid. She put the glass on the table and felt the atmosphere shift into sharper contrast. The tick of the small wooden clock on the mantelpiece echoed. She heard the movement of the warm air from the flames waft up the chimney. The ridges of the upholstery’s brocade grew under her fingertips.

  “Decide what you want, Elizabeth. Decide and then choose to make it happen.”

  Lizzie let out a breath as the warmth of the fire colored her cheeks. The sad fortitude of those dark eyes burned something within her. Impatience. An urge to go somewhere. Do something. Move. Feel. Not somewhere else. That moment was so vivid. So real. So important. Like she was on one side of the door about to unlock it and see what was on the other side. Something in her mind was waiting to reveal itself. Something… something that would explain everything.

  Her dream was so vivid. The dream after she gave her blood to that vampire. That blood was coloring her cheeks and … making her heart beat. Lizzie looked at Claire’s peasant blouse and wondered if the heart slowed back to normal. She turned to Claire and untied the top of the blouse and slid her hand across the left breast, finding the pyrrhic rhythm. She saw the dark eyes staring with admiration and sorrow and a new hunger. Lizzie leaned towards her and gave in to the kiss that met her lips.

  *****

  She fastened the buttons of her dress with agitated fingers. Even with the half moon, a silver light crept into the room, enough to find her shoes and cap without bumping into the furniture. The bed was left in shadow, provoking her agitation. She didn’t wa
nt her to wake and stop her from leaving.

  She crept through the door, careful to take her time and not provoke the creak of the bottom hinge. She silently pulled the latch into place and let out a deep sigh with her escape. She didn’t know how to face the morning, but staying through the evening was impossible. Her fingers still shook in the kitchen. Annie’s fire was low, but still burning. She added another log to the flames and found the pitcher of water. She drank all of it, resolving to go back to the well after allowing a few moments in front of the growing flames.

  He was standing in the unlit corner of the room. Her heart leapt and increased its rhythm. He was waiting for her. She knew he would be, but didn’t think he would have remained so long.

  She reached her fingers to her neck, making certain the collar of her dress concealed the marks. He knew they were there. He gave her marks like that. He wanted to do it again. She could see it in the glare of those gray green eyes. She didn’t want him. She didn’t want…

  He stepped into the light of the fire. She shut her eyes. Vile, vile creature. They were the same. She couldn’t let herself think differently. She knew their plan now. Charlotte made it very clear why he came back. It wasn’t for her. It was to marry and murder Harriet. Like Horace. They were using her, making her part of their contemptible plan. She had to leave. She couldn’t leave. She couldn’t leave those green eyes that haunted her dreams since the night of the wedding.

  He muttered something about her silence. She said nothing to break it. He asked her about a book. She didn’t want to know about a book. He asked some trifle about the weather. The fury burst from her lips. She told him what Charlotte explained. About Mr. Fulton’s niece and the truth of her consumption in France. About the larger plans for the Fultons… her family.

  She lunged out of her chair to strike him. She was angry that he didn’t say anything to argue against her, to say he wasn’t a monster. Her hand landed against his face with more pain for her than him. She lifted her other arm to try again, but he took hold of it and held her still. He looked with those green eyes, forcing her to cry the tears that reflected his sadness. She saw his struggle. He didn’t want Charlotte any more than she did. He wanted escape. He wanted her. He wanted her more than the money. More than blood.

 

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