The Blood The Bonds

by Christopher Buecheler

  Two raised her eyebrows, confused.

  Melissa rolled here eyes. “And now I’m rambling. I can’t control it. I’m sorry. Can I do anything to help you?”

  Theroen was right; Two did like Melissa. She was the polar opposite of the calm, collected vampire who’d brought Two to this world, but Two liked her just the same. She smiled, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

  “Unless you’ve got a fix in that purse, I don’t know if there’s much you can do.”

  Melissa shook her head, her expression almost sad, as if it was indeed a travesty that she was not carrying the drug.

  “No. Just some makeup and Kleenex and,” She looked around as if confirming that no one was listening, “maybe some weed.”

  Two laughed, wincing at the pain this brought. A vampire carrying ganja. Wonders never ceased. Melissa grinned as well, maybe seeing the humor, maybe just happy to see Two smile.

  “You can smoke that?” Two asked.

  “Sure.”

  “And it’s, like, the same as for a human?”

  “Beats me. It does something, though. Everything does. What we find palatable, though, may differ a lot from humans. I think heroin would probably be too much for me.”

  “When Theroen, uh... started me, he said that it made him really sick, just getting it from my blood.”

  “Theroen’s a wuss!” Melissa laughed. “I mean, I’m sure it did... and if it was that bad for him I’m sure it’d be awful for me too. But he’s also pretty picky. He doesn’t even like it when there’s a little alcohol in the mix. Just all that serious ‘no, only blood, nothing else.’ Stuff.”

  “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. Does it matter? Bad? Good?”

  “How old are you, Melissa? How old is Theroen?”

  “Ooh, hmmm,” she mused, “I don’t know. He might want to tell you that himself.”

  “What about you, then?”

  “One hundred and forty eight and three days. Or twenty-two, depending on how you look at it.”

  “You don’t look a day over one-twenty.”

  Melissa laughed, and then looked again in concern as Two doubled over. Hot and cold flashes were running through her, and she was bathed in a cold sweat.

  “Oh, fuck. I think I’m going to puke.”

  “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?”

  “Theroen’s blood stops it. I don’t know. Would yours?” Two spoke slowly, through clenched teeth, trying to fight against the sudden onset of nausea.

  Melissa shrugged. “Beats me. Worth a shot. I don’t mind. I probably shouldn’t let you just go at my neck or whatever, though.”

  “Theroen bit his finger.”

  “Sure.” Melissa’s teeth made a tiny clicking sound, like the noise of a stapler, and she held her finger out to Two, blood welling up from two tears in the skin. “Hurry up, before it heals.”

  Two looked up at her. “Sorry. This is some fucked up, bizarre shit.”

  “Live a hundred and fifty years, and you’ll see things that make this seem pretty tame. Do it, if you think it’ll help you. I don’t mind.”

  Two put her lips on Melissa’s finger and let the blood roll on to her tongue. The effect of the blood was immediate, energizing her, and it was all she could do not to clamp down with her teeth. Melissa seemed to sense this, and grinned. “Yummy. Vampire blood is awesome. Hard to get, though.”

  Two swallowed twice, forced herself to pull away. Her nausea disappeared, along with the cold sweat and the chills. Some of the pain remained, still, but it was distant. She guessed that Theroen was much older and stronger than Melissa, and that this affected the potency of his blood.

  “Better?” Melissa asked, and Two nodded.

  “Yes. Not perfect, but much better. Thank you.”

  Melissa licked the last few drops of her blood off her fingers and smiled. “No problem. What’s your name?”

  “Two.”

  “Like the number?”

  “Yes, like the number.”

  Melissa laughed and clapped her hands. “That’s so cool! That’s much better than Jennifer or Betty or Melissa.”

  Two shrugged. “I guess?”

  “People with cool names never appreciate them. Now then. What you need is a bath. That’ll take your mind off of this withdrawal stuff until Theroen gets back, and then I’m sure he’ll know what to do.”

  Two crossed her arms, scratched her shoulders. A bath sounded wonderful.

  “You can use mine. The one in here sucks. Theroen doesn’t know anything.” Melissa helped her up. Two stood on shaky legs, looked around, took a breath.

  “How far is it?”

  “Not far. Can you walk a bit?”

  Two nodded. Melissa went to the door, opened it, held it for her. In the hallway, the vampire took the lead, and Two followed.

  * * *

  The bath was heaven on earth. Giant marble slabs, green and black and grey patterns tracing themselves out across what seemed, at first, to be miles of stone. The basin had to be twelve feet long, three feet deep. Sitting straight up, Two saw, the water could easily have covered her head. The faucet, gleaming in a dull manner that spoke of authentic gold, was enormous. The water steamed as Melissa turned it on.

  “I like flowers. Do you like flowers?”

  Two had no idea what Melissa meant. She shrugged. “Sure?”

  “In the bath, silly.”

  “Oh.” Two honestly didn’t know. She’d never tried it. “Why not?”

  Melissa laughed, took a basket from the shelf above, dropped hundreds upon hundreds of blossoms into the bath water. Their fragrance filled the room immediately, cherry blossoms, rose petals, the sweet smell of citrus. Melissa lit candles, turned off the lights, stood in front of Two, unbuttoned her blouse. Two shrugged it off. There was nothing embarrassing in this, though Two could not say why. Melissa, for her part, seemed entirely unfazed. She helped Two out of the rest of her garments, held her arm out for balance as Two climbed the steps to the bath and stepped in. Two descended into the petals, felt the warmth embrace her, and sighed. Melissa sat on the step, played with the water at her fingertips, smiled at Two.

  “Good?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  Melissa handed her a gigantic sponge, natural from the look of it, and some sort of perfumed bath lotion. Two cleaned herself slowly. Melissa chattered, behind her and to the right, about all sorts of things. New pop music she was enamored with, the wonderful lights and throbbing beats of the raves she attended, the new interpretation of Shakespeare running on Broadway. Her tastes were more varied than anyone Two had met. She kept the conversation casual. One might not have known these were two vampires, or one and a half at least, if not for the pale skin, the luminous eyes, the sharp, tiny teeth flashing occasionally in the light of the candles.

  Eventually, Two was as clean as she was going to get. She lingered, relaxed, the withdrawal back in some dark corner, brooding, not yet ready to return. Melissa ran water, filled a clay jug, ancient glaze cracked along its contours, and wet Two’s hair. Two leaned back, eyes closed, as Melissa’s fingers worked shampoo through her blonde curls. It was like a supernatural visit to a salon, Two reflected, and laughed slightly. Melissa seemed to catch this thought, and smiled as well.

  She helped Two from the bath, dried her, helped her choose perfumes Theroen might like, helped her dress in a long, flowing gown. Green, like her eyes. It was a bit too long, but otherwise fit well.

  “He’ll say he prefers black, if you ask him, but he’s just buying into the whole vampire thing. You look like a goddess, and he’ll know it.”

  Two looked at herself in the mirror, amazed at the change. White skin, green dress, green eyes, golden hair. The gown was of an older style, décolleté, leaving little to the imagination, pushing her breasts upward and making them seem fuller. She looked like a lady at court. Two smiled, giggled like a little girl, touched her own hair as if not believing. In her ni
neteen years, she had never seen herself like this. Two had always understood that she possessed some level of beauty, and knew also that the vampirism was enhancing this even more, but still would never have believed she could look like this.

  Behind her stood Melissa, still in her simple jeans and blouse and yet radiating supernatural beauty as well. Smiling, she touched Two’s neck, and Two turned. A small, sweet kiss on the lips, and Melissa peered into her eyes, beaming.

  “Soon we’ll be sisters! Or nearly enough. You and Theroen will be together, and we can all hunt and live and see and do! Won’t it be wonderful?”

  Two thought it might, indeed.

  * * *

  “I don’t care for all of this antique crap.”

  Melissa’s directness, something Two realized now was as innate to her being as Theroen’s composure, was regardless sometimes surprising. Two raised her eyebrows.

  “No?”

  They were sitting on the back terrace, looking out at the woods. The moon was huge tonight, reaching the bloated, red fullness she had seen promised not three nights ago. It hung low over the sky. The night was still young. Two’s earlier pain had made the time seem much longer than it had actually been.

  “No. It’s pointless. Abraham buys the stuff without any thought, at least that I can tell. Mostly he doesn’t even do the buying. Theroen does, though Theroen detests a lot of it. That might be what Abraham has him doing tonight. Or it might be that he’s retrieving dinner for Abraham. He doesn’t hunt for himself anymore, you know, just relies on Theroen. Doesn’t even have to drink more than every once in a while. I think maybe the little blood he took from you, like you said? That might have woken up the thirst.”

  “How does Theroen feel about bringing him victims?”

  “Better than about buying him stupid furniture.” Melissa’s eyes gleamed. She grinned.

  “It doesn’t bother him, then? Picking out a life to take like he was going to the grocery store?”

  Melissa looked at Two, shook her head, smiling.

  “That’s not how it is ... not for Theroen or even for me. We don’t have to kill, anymore. We don’t need that much blood. Abraham kills because he likes to, that’s all.

  “But even if we still had to ... you don’t understand. You were asleep for the only real drink you’ve ever had. You don’t know how it is yet. You think a couple of drops from a finger are good? Wait until you’re a full vampire.”

  Two remembered the taste of Melissa’s blood, of Theroen’s, of her own. It had been sweet on her lips, hot and powerful. It had left her breathless.

  “You have to kill at the start, but you get over it,” Melissa continued. “Mortals die all the time. That’s what makes them so beautiful. They get all into their art and their music and their careers and everything, and then they get old and die. Or they die young. If we don’t bring them death, something else will, some other time. We are predators among them. And most of them? In that last instant before death? Most of them love us.”

  Two shook her head, not in negation but confusion. It all seemed deceptively easy. It all seemed so right, and yet here she was sitting with a young woman talking casually about the slaughter of human beings.

  “You’re only half. When he makes you full, Two, these things won’t concern you. Or at least, I doubt they will. Not past the first kill.”

  “You said we’d be sisters. Did Theroen make you, then?”

  Melissa laughed, not at Two’s ignorance, but at the idea itself, as if the very thought were absurd.

  “No, my father is Abraham. My blood is Abraham’s blood. I only meant sisters in that our bodies are of similar ages. And both of us will have been reborn into darkness, as the poets put it.”

  Darkness. Two could feel darkness at the back of her mind, beginning to gnaw at her again. The idea of a fix right now, after the nice warm bath, out on the patio with a friend, seemed dangerously appealing. Melissa cocked her head.

  “You’re thinking about drugs.”

  Two felt her face reddening, nodded. “Yeah. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I imagine it’s hard not to. I wonder if it’s like the thirst. If it’s like when we’re forced not to drink for a few days. It burns in us, Two. It’s all I can think about. Sometimes it’s like that even on normal days. Sometimes I’ll feed two... even three times a night.”

  Two didn’t know. Of the thirst she knew only a vague desire, not a desperate need. Of the heroin, she knew nothing else.

  Time passed. Several times Two was one the verge of asking Melissa for more blood, but stopped herself. She didn’t want to seem that weak. She could handle it until Theroen returned. Light shakes and a dry mouth. No worse than getting the flu, really, for the moment.

  In the distance, in the trees, a howling. Two looked up, eyes widening. Melissa’s reaction was immediate. She stood and peered out into the forest.

  “Oh, shit. I have to go, Two.”

  Two felt fear flood through her, fear of being alone, of the pain returning. Two turned to Melissa with pleading eyes.

  “Why? What is it?”

  “I have to. And you have to go back inside.” Apology implicit in the voice, but Melissa offered no explanation. Two looked at her, mute. She wanted to ask for more blood, if Melissa was going to leave her alone, but the vampire seemed agitated and nervous.

  “I’ll take you back up to your bedroom, if you want. Then I have to go.”

  Two nodded, biting her lower lip, trying to suppress the fear and depression that wanted to engulf her.

  Lying in the dark. Hard to breath, hard to think, conscious thought slipping in and out like the tide. Sometimes there was only pain, sometimes she could hear herself sobbing. Chills, nausea, and the maddening craving for the drug. God, all she wanted was to get high. Was it so wrong? Thoughts of Darren, Molly, the drug, the needle. Two wanted to leave this mansion, return to her pimp, beg for his apology and for her ration. But she couldn’t walk. She knew that soon she would try to crawl, crawl back to New York, back to Darren, on her hands and knees. She had no choice.

  More howling from the outside, and then quiet. Just the wind, the rustling of leaves, the sound of grass shivering under its assault. Two’s eyes were wide open in the dark, not seeing the room around her. Instead she saw the forest. She heard light, quiet breathing. Gasps from further away. Was this her body? Golden hair at the sides of her vision, hanging in long, loose curls like hers. Yet her chest felt heavier, the breasts larger, the body lankier. She moved across the ground in a manner completely unfamiliar to her. This was not Two.

  The pain cut through the vision. Two gasped, moaned, lay back, and again the seeing overtook her. No, not Two. Not her eyes. Not her body. Someone else. Some other.

  Ahead, a silhouette, something struggling its way through the forest. Something that Two could barely see was moving in lumbering steps, gasping, weeping, praying in some nameless language to some nameless god. The prayer of the victim. The prayer of the hunted. Two’s hear raced, adrenaline flooding her body, excitement and lust and terrible, terrible hunger. The prey was at hand, the hunt over.

  Speed, now, overtaking the victim, warmth flooding through her body as dull excitement awakened between her thighs. Was it always like this? Would she never grow used to this, never lose that throbbing heat? She tasted the man’s sweat, salty, as her teeth and tongue caressed the surface of his neck. He lay there, caught by her powerful arms, unable to move, unable to breathe.

  The attack was not a clean bite, not the civilized piercing Theroen’s teeth had made in her own vein, barely noticeable afterward. Two felt her head move forward, felt her jaws clench like powerful machines, felt bone and muscle and cartilage crush between her teeth. A tearing sound, like wet cloth, resistance giving way as she jerked and twisted her head. Two screamed out loud at this sensation, in her bedroom in the mansion.

  The blood sprayed, coating her face in warmth. Below her, the man was jerking, seizuring, pain and pleasure overtaking him even
as his death throes began. Great draughts of blood, they seemed to never end, pumping and pumping from his ruined throat.

  Two closed her eyes, driving this vision away, descending into the pain. The pain was better than this. The pain would help her forget, help her erase this memory of brutal, violent death. Yet these things did not happen. Two could not forget, and in the depths of pain she found she could admit to herself the truth, somehow more bearable amidst this physical assault on her body.