The Blood That Bonds

by Christopher Buecheler

  From the shadows there was laughter like silver bells on a sheet of glass. The woman stepped out from the doorway of a cathedral. Black hair, pale white skin and oceanic green eyes. Theroen felt himself lost and drowning in those eyes, and looked away, snarling.

  “Do you fear everything you don’t understand?” Her accent was French.

  “I fear nothing.” A lie, perhaps. His fright was replaced with the hot flush of humiliation. Theroen was glad for this. Of the two, he preferred the latter.

  “You fear me.”

  “You were trying to hypnotize me.”

  “I was doing nothing of the sort.”

  Theroen looked back, was pulled again into the depths of those eyes. He struggled to maintain focus, coherent thought, any semblance of composure.

  She laughed again, but there was no trace of mockery in the sound. Theroen’s spine knotted and he shivered. “Who are you?”

  “Who I am would be a long tale indeed, my fallen priest. Your father knows me. Perhaps you could ask him.”

  “Your name, at least?”

  “You can call me Lisette. It is not the name I was born into, but the one I chose for myself later. After. It has a lovely sound to it, don’t you think?”

  “Lisette. Madame. What do you want?” Theroen had regained some composure. His thoughts were more clear, the sense of fear not gone, but faded. The girl, and Theroen saw now that she was little more than such, laughed again.

  “Ah, you are brave, child. But don’t make assumptions based on my appearance. I’ve walked this earth for far longer than you can currently conceive.”

  Theroen looked again, trying to see past the facade. The eyes told him she spoke the truth. They were ancient and ageless, like Abraham’s, yet without the malice that forever darkened his. Lisette smiled at him and took a step forward. Theroen flinched, stumbled backward, immediately on the defensive. His fear seemed to leap forward, energizing his muscles. Lisette paused, shaking her head.

  “Child, if I wanted to kill you, you would be very dead by now. Do you not understand this?”

  Theroen shook his head, a guarded expression on his face. The woman before him was lithe, petite, nearly angelic in her beauty. A killer?

  And then she was gone, and he felt the lightest touch of lips against his ear. Her voice was a whisper, heard as much in his mind as by his body. “That and more.”

  Theroen jerked to the side, flailing his arms for balance, losing it, falling.

  Then he was sitting. Sitting on a stone bench, vaguely aware of some sort of movement too fast even for his vampire senses to track.

  “Dear God,” his voice was thick with fear and confusion. The vampire, now sitting beside him, smiled again.

  “You speak to He who has forsaken you, Theroen. Is this not the case? Or perhaps you have only forsaken Him?”

  Theroen searched for something to hold on to in his confusion, and found his anger. “I know not of Him. Not anymore. I know of fallen priests, and I know of their sins.”

  Lisette clapped her hands together at this, laughing, merry, unperturbed. Theroen turned to her, teeth clenched, angry. She looked at him with calm eyes, and shook her head.

  “I am not mocking you, my young priest. Ah, has Abraham taught you nothing? No, of course not. Your goodness disgusts him.”

  “I’ve no goodness left in me, lady. You look upon a black hearted killer. A creature of evil.”

  More laughter. “I look upon nothing of the sort. I look only upon a man, and a vampire, who knows nothing of his own true nature. I look upon a man who was been lead by others all his life, and knows not how to lead himself.”

  “I look,” She said, “upon a fledgling in desperate need of answers.”

  Theroen said nothing, but turned away. Answers? Perhaps, yes. Certainly Abraham had provided him with little in the way of understanding. He felt movement: Lisette leaning in closer. This time he did not shy away. He was instead suddenly, acutely aware of the woman next to him. She smelled of lilacs and blood. When she laughed this time, it did not bother him so much.

  “You must learn to guard your thoughts, my child. Such impure images from a man of the cloth...”

  “I beg your pardon, Madame.” He could think of no other response.

  Lisette moved her lips to his neck, held them above the vein. “Is that all you beg for?” Her breath set the tiny hairs below her lips standing on edge.

  “Milady...” Theroen felt out of breath. He was dimly aware of activity at his groin, a first since his baptism into darkness. No mortal woman had ever had this affect on him as a vampire, and before that, as a virgin priest for all of his twenty-three years, he had steadfastly disallowed any such impure thoughts. Now, they swamped him, overwhelmed him, swept him up.

  Half-focused images, potent, carnal, flashed through his mind. Her open bodice beckoned, the white breasts luminescent in the moonlight. Skin like porcelain. Hair like ebony. Lips like blood. He sensed, or thought he sensed, some dull fire from between her legs. Theroen moaned slightly. Her lips never touched his skin, yet they burned there like hot iron.

  “Alive below the waist,” She commented in a whisper. “How curious. Your father is possessed of no such blessing.”

  She touched him there, ever so gentle, and Theroen made some sound, some choked sob. He began to turn toward her, desire overwhelming him.

  As suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Lisette sat up, and the feeling, like a building explosion, drained away. Theroen drew in a shuddery breath. Lisette laughed.

  “I like you, Theroen Anders. I shall visit you again.”

  And she was gone.

  * * *

  “So she’s the one who taught you that you could... you know?” Two asked.

  “Yes, that and much more. I wish I could tell you the whole story, Two. I haven’t the time, right now. I have to go and find out what Abraham wants.”

  “I’m hungry. Should I wait?”

  “If I’m not back in a few hours, then you can go yourself. Just be smart about it. I’m sure you’ll do fine. Otherwise, I’d certainly enjoy your company. I thought we might go into the city tonight.” Theroen glanced in the direction of Abraham’s quarters, his expression of exasperation surprisingly human. Two laughed.

  “Go. I’ll take a shower, and wait for you.”

  She watched him leave, then stripped off the nightgown and made her way into the bathroom. It was not as luxurious as Melissa’s, but it was quite enough for Two, who had spent the last year showering in a cold tile room with seven other women.

  She thought of Darren. Molly. Janice. Rhes and Sarah. Would she see them again? Her desire for revenge against Darren was already fading. It was difficult to maintain any concern. Her connection with those mortal lives had been severed. She didn’t need the drug, didn’t really care if Darren’s crimes went unpunished. The thought of Molly still hurt, but what could she do for Molly? Killing Darren would only put the girl out on the street with no immediate source of her drug.

  More pressing, and more troublesome, was the story Theroen had begun. Lisette. An elder vampire and a previous lover. Two wondered what had happened to her, and knew it couldn’t have been pleasant. The expression on Theroen’s face had been heart-breaking.

  There was still so little she knew about her lover. Centuries of life that remained dark to her, stories untold. Theroen was a creature beyond the scope of time Two was capable of visualizing. She could not imagine living for nearly half a millennia. The thought filled her both with fear and a fierce, fluttering excitement. So much to see and do, side by side with the one she loved.

  Two turned off the shower, brushed her hair, pulled on clothes. There was a plush armchair against the wall, and a collection of poetry on the nightstand. The transition begun the night she had met Theroen was still working on Two in ways both subtle and obvious. Beyond the strength, and the speed, it seemed also to be shaping her mind, maximizing it, bringing it to its full potential. She was now able to read far mo
re quickly, comprehend on many more levels. Poetry that had once left her confused and frustrated now fascinated her.

  Two sat down with the book, reading, glancing on occasion at the door, waiting for Theroen.

  * * *

  Two’s ears picked up the noises several minutes before her brain truly registered them. Shuffling from down the hall. Heavy breathing. They came not from the direction of Abraham’s chambers, but from Melissa’s.

  She glanced at her watch. It had been more than ninety minutes since Theroen had left. If he was much longer in returning, Two would have to go hunting without him. She stood, set the book on the table, crept out the door, edging toward Melissa’s room. She hoped to determine which of the two women inhabited the body before making her presence known.

  The cry startled her not only because it was unexpected, but because the voice belonged neither to Melissa, nor Missy. It was a woman’s voice, gasping for air, but a different tone than that which Melissa spoke with. Two heard fear in the voice, but also pleasure, longing, desire.

  “No. Please wait!”

  Two crept toward the door, curiosity overwhelming her. Light shone from the interior of Melissa’s room, spilling gold and amber onto the carpeting of the hall. Two glanced through the crack, into the room, eyes wide. On Melissa’s bed lay a girl about Two’s age, naked and sweaty, bleeding from a wound on her neck, and another near her navel. Melissa, or Missy, straddled her, unclothed as well. There was blood on her lips.

  “Wait?” It was obviously Missy. The tone of the voice was enough. “Do you really want me to wait?”

  The girl was stammering, panting, staring up at Missy with huge, confused eyes. Missy didn’t give her a chance to form a coherent answer, but reached instead behind her, between the girl’s legs. The girl cried out, arched her back, immediately matched the movement of her hips to the rhythm of Missy’s hand. She leaned her head back, gasping, baring her throat. Missy moved her head down without hesitation, feeding. Two felt her own hunger roar to life despite her horror. The blood, the sex; she could smell them on the air. Missy pulled away again, licking her lips.

  “Not tonight. I can’t finish you tonight, but I can start you. Theroen thinks he can leave me here by myself. Theroen and Abraham and Tori and that stupid bitch who uses my body can all go fuck themselves. You’re mine, Samantha.”

  Samantha looked up at her, semi-conscious, dazed from passion and lack of blood. Dark brown hair, olive complexion, smooth and curvaceous body. Her nipples stood hard, and Two noticed that there were bite marks on her breasts, too.

  “Drink,” Missy said, and ran a sharp fingernail across her own breast. She lowered it to Samantha’s open mouth. The girl latched on to it like a child intent on feeding. Missy gasped, turned her head, and caught sight of Two. Their eyes seemed locked. Missy smiled, but in those eyes there was only malice.

  “Mine,” She said.

  Two turned and walked back to her room on legs that felt numb.

  * * *

  Three and a half hours had passed since Theroen’s departure. The hunger was gnawing at Two, but she was afraid to leave her room. Afraid that Missy might be waiting for her, might be looking to show off the awful progeny she was creating. Would her blood taint the girl’s mind? Would she and Theroen find themselves now the only sane beings in an even larger brood of vampires?

  The door to her room opened. Two whirled, expecting Missy, unsure of what she might do to avoid confrontation. Theroen stood there instead, looking at her, calm as ever. “You waited.”

  “You... we... there’s a problem, Theroen. It’s bad. Really bad. Something really bad is happening.”

  Theroen nodded. His expression didn’t change. “I am aware of it.”

  “But you didn’t stop it?”

  “I wasn’t able to. I was with Abraham. I believe he knew.”

  He came into the room, sat down in a chair, looked out the window. Two waited for him to explain.

  “There is nothing to explain,” Theroen said after a while. “Abraham knew, yes. I’m sure of it. He knew where Missy was, and what she was doing, and now there’s another half-vampire lying unconscious in a cell in the basement, and Melissa’s been crying for the past hour.”

  “Melissa?”

  “Missy let her back in, as soon as she’d done it. Melissa woke up naked, lying next to the girl. It didn’t take her long to figure out what had happened, but she couldn’t make herself kill the girl. Perhaps it’s maternal instinct. Perhaps it is Missy exerting her will. I do not know, but Samantha is her child now.”

  “Couldn’t she just leave? You said that half-vampires eventually revert.”

  “They do. It doesn’t matter. They are bonded now. What will the girl do, if we take her somewhere and leave her lying unconscious? She will wake up and return home. Missy will eventually wrest control of the body away from Melissa. When she does, she will go to the area of the city where the girl lives. Tracking her from there will be simple.”

  “So what do we do?”

  Theroen laughed. There was little humor in the sound. “Yes. What do we do? We go hunting. Then I go to Abraham and tell him what he already knows, and find out how he wishes me to proceed.”

  “Would he care?”

  “I do not know. The possibility exists that this is some sort of test, or lesson, or final parting gift. He might tell me to do nothing. He might tell me to slaughter the girl. To be honest, I’m not sure what the best course of action is. He may have arranged this entire event, that he might exercise one last bit of control over me before I abandon him forever.”

  “Would you do it?”

  Theroen’s gaze did not leave the window. He shrugged. “She might well be better off. Melissa would certainly be better off. In truth, it might be better for all involved if my parting gift to Abraham was to slaughter those of his descendents whom I am not taking with me.”

  “Theroen, no! Melissa? She...”

  “She shares her mind with something which has become progressively stronger with each passing day. Something evil that was never meant to be. Something which is slowly taking over the body that once was hers.”

  He turned to Two. “The question is not whether Melissa will die, Two. It is whether she will die by my hand, or Abraham’s, or Missy’s. She will eventually be absorbed. This leaves Tori, who is almost certainly better off dead, and the half-vampire in the basement, whose name I do not even know.”

  “Samantha.” Two’s lips felt numb.

  Theroen looked at her, and there was a momentary dizziness. Two’s vision swam, and images of the events with Melissa seemed to flicker past behind her eyelids. Then it was over.

  “Yes, Samantha. My apologies, Two. I should have asked before doing that.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Normally I receive thoughts passively. I shut most of it out, in fact, for a variety of reasons. Occasionally though I harvest. In this instance, I’m now aware of what you saw and heard.”

  “How do you do this stuff, Theroen?”

  Theroen shrugged. “All thought is energy. All energy can be harnessed. I do not know how my mind does it, only that it can.”

  “Theroen... what do we do?”

  He sighed. “My largest concern is not determining Abraham’s desire, but whether I should carry out those actions regardless of his wishes. The people who will be left in this mansion, Two, are largely better off dead. Melissa knows this. She’s known it for years.”

  “That’s why she cried last night. When you finished me.” Two felt cold and frightened. She felt as if some momentous even was passing, something beyond her ability to control.

  Theroen nodded. “Your birth into darkness was the beginning of the end. It was the beginning of the end of everything she has ever known.”

  * * *

  Two could hear muffled sobbing as they left her room. She turned instinctively toward the sound, but Theroen’s hand guided her back toward the staircase.

  “There’s little w
e could do for her right now, Two.”

  Two looked up at him, angry. “You’re talking about your sister, Theroen.”

  He closed his eyes; put his hand on his forehead. “I know exactly who I am talking about, Two.”

  “The person you’ve shared a hundred and forty years with.”

  “I know, Two.”

  “The least you could do is...”

  “Is what?” Theroen asked, looking up at her. There was anger in his eyes, and his voice was strained. “Sit next to her? Hold her hand? Tell her everything is going to be okay? Is that what I should do?”

  Two was momentarily taken aback.

  “I have hated myself, Two, for things broken that I could not repair, for three hundred and fifty years. Hated myself. I know now what I must do, and may God forgive me for it, because I will never forgive myself. Melissa knows I am to be her destruction. We were waiting only for the catalyst. The thing that would cause me to flee from Abraham’s grasp. It was inevitable.

  “You are that catalyst, Two. All I can think about is our life together. It is in my mind always. I want to take you away from this. From Abraham and Tori and Missy. I want to show you what we can truly be, as Lisette once showed me. This means leaving Melissa, and for that I am truly sorry, but I cannot help myself. I must go. The final act of this little farce that Abraham created has come.

  “How can I give her any comfort? What is there to say? It is remarkable that Melissa does not hate us both.”

  Two was silent. She could feel her eyes going hard and wet the way they always did when tears threatened. Clients used to love that look. Theroen could not meet her gaze. He kept trying, and was having no success. This somehow made it worse. When he spoke, there was sorrow in his voice. And regret. And defeat.