“One would think that you have been running about where you should not have been. You are limping, I notice, did you fall?”
His voice dripped with condescension, which only stoked the fires of her rage. “Let’s just get started.”
She began unpacking her bag, head held down as her mind whirred at a thousand miles a minute. There was no choice, she would just have to work through the night and do her best. With luck she could catch her friends in time, but then luck didn’t really seem to be on her side these days. Above all, she realised, she mustn’t let the panic show on her face. She needed to be a mask tonight, seemingly calm, focused and diligent. She would be hard worker, just like her name.
“Miss Emily, your coldness wounds me,” Volkov said in mock offence. “I am merely showing concern for you and yours. How is your dear mother, by the way?”
You know full well, you bastard, she thought venomously, but remained silent. She began mixing her paints carefully, taking care not to look at him the entire time; she wondered if he could feel the resentment radiating from her.
“Miss Emily,” he said dangerously. “You are being most impolite. Such behaviour does not become you.”
Emily laughed at that, unable to stop herself. It fell from her mouth without restraint, and sounded manic. She couldn’t understand it; here she was alone with a man she deeply feared, and yet she laughed. Unbelievably she found herself thinking of her mother telling her not to squeeze her fingers as it was ‘most unladylike’. Maybe that’s why she laughed, not because it was funny, but because the absurdity of it compelled her to do nothing other than laugh in disbelief that Volkov had even found a way to take her mother from her memories, tainting her with his perverse twisting of her own life. He was why her mother spewed such awful, hateful words that began their life as true statements meant without malice. Her mother and father hadn’t wanted her at first, but then they did, and so she was born. That was that, no sense crying about it now, but she had expected to keep her memories of her mother at least. If it came to that, if Emily had to kill her mother at the point of turning, she didn’t know what she would do. Common sense dictated that she kill her, but a person’s emotions tend to be much more powerful in matters such as these. Victoria was Emily’s mother and Emily was Victoria’s daughter. That was the way it was supposed to be. The mother is not meant to kill the daughter, and the daughter is not meant to kill the mother. How could Emily do such a thing? In her mind she knew that she may have no choice but to do it in the end, but reality was a very different matter. Would her body, or her heart, let her do such a thing? All of these things she contemplated in the blink of an eye.
Volkov’s smile did not change. Even from where she stood she could see the firelight captured in his tiger eyes, and she hated their false beauty.
“At least we know that your mouth works,” he said, leaning his hand against the flat of his palm, elbow resting on the arm of the chair. He looked incredibly relaxed, a confident predator all dressed in finery. Emily watched him with slow consideration, taking in everything she saw with her artists’ eye, detached and focused on one thing only; the act of creation. He gazed at her, eyes fixed upon her mouth. She hated knowing that he looked at her and thought things that she couldn’t know. She realised that Volkov appeared older than he had the last time she had seen him. The change wasn’t too significant, but still noticeable even in the soft, forgiving light of the candles. Even though she looked upon him with hatred, she could see how distinguished and cruelly handsome he appeared. She knew that his true face lurked beneath, hiding away from her, but she would know that face come the end of this. She promised it to herself. For the meantime, perhaps playing along would be the best option. She pushed down her anger, still brewing forcefully within her, until she felt herself begin to relax. She shifted in her chair, and Volkov suddenly moved from his own seat and shifted to an ottoman not too far from where Emily sat. He moved so quickly, like liquid. Emily couldn’t be sure that she wasn’t hallucinating. Then he was beside her, the ottoman in his hands. She dutifully lifted her leg and he placed the footrest beneath it. She laid her leg back down, sighing with relief. Momentarily deceived by the comfort and the kindness of the act, she sat there quietly and watched Volkov return to his chair. She tried to track his movements to no avail. Then something occurred to her, cutting through her be-spelled state.
“I can’t paint on a canvas this big sitting down,” she said.
Volkov laughed. “No, I would expect not.”
She felt her body stiffen. “Then why go to these lengths to make me comfortable?”
“You are only human, Miss Emily,” Volkov replied. “You and I have a long night ahead together.”
You and I. Together. It sounded wrong to her. She tried to shake off the dread that hung over her like a cloud, and it suddenly occurred to her that her ankle wasn’t hurting so much anymore. She looked down at it, her foot still encased in its boot, and felt the pain miraculously melt away as it rested on the soft cushion of the footstool. She couldn’t help but gasp with relief; inside her boots she flexed her toes and marvelled when it didn’t hurt.
“A little more like your old self, would you not agree?” Volkov smirked, draping one leg over the other and settling back. “Now, perhaps the canvas will not be such a challenge.”
He was being so open about himself now that she knew, she thought, deliberately showing off to her like an amorous peacock. He could do as he pleased with her because in the end, who would believe her? She pushed herself out of the chair and tentatively put her weight on the injured foot. To her wonder, it felt completely fine. She stared at Volkov without wavering; her body remained strong. She shifted on her feet, testing it cautiously. It felt fine; it was incredible.
“Why would you do that?” Emily’s expression was curious, baffled. “You know that I could just run away.”
Volkov inspected the back of his hand, bored. “I suspect that you could, yes. But you will not run away, will you Miss Emily?”
And there it was. This was what she meant when she had told the others that he had her. No matter what she did, he had made her into property. She was not her own person any more, but then she couldn’t help but wonder if she had ever been her own person. He gave and he took away; was that how her life was to be lived from now on, rewarded and punished like a lab rat?
She shook her head. “No, I won’t run away.”
“Then may I suggest,” Volkov said, “that we begin?”
Unable to speak, Emily nodded again.
***
Nick, Simone and Reverend Abrahms met outside the house before dusk and had been in their respective stations for some hours before Emily arrived. Before meeting, each handled the coming tasks in different ways. Simone discovered that on reflection, while she really thought that this whole thing was mad, it also gave her the potential to achieve one of her life’s great dreams. She recalled her desire to set something on fire just once. She didn’t want to hurt anyone, of course, she was just born with an innate, thankfully quiet need for destruction. It would be an old building, one that was going to be demolished, and before she set it ablaze she wanted her and Emily to rampage through it with baseball bats, screaming all of the obscenities that they could think of while they smashed anything in the vicinity that could be smashed. Simone suspected that Emily wouldn’t be much good at the smashing part, but she’d certainly get a kick out of it and Simone would laugh at her as she weakly tapped at the vases and flinched when it fell off its stand and smashed.
Simone only wished that they had baseball bats right now. If Emily and the God guy were right and this Volkov fellow is a vampire –she couldn’t get over how stupid it sounded to say out loud – then that meant that he was undead, right? Setting an undead man’s house on fire was all right in these circumstances, surely? Nick had listened to her ramble on like this for a good ten minutes before putting his hands on her shoulders and pushing her down until she was sitting with him. The
y were in her room back at her dad’s house, splayed across the bed. Her father, ever mindful of her needs, had gone out earlier that morning and most likely wouldn’t be back until the morning after. Probably off to see his girlfriend, Simone thought. It was for the best, her father was the last person she would want to talk to about what she was about to do, and she and Nick could have the pokey house to themselves.
“What are you thinking?” Nick asked, eyes finding hers and holding her gaze. His eyes were a warm brown, earthy and beautiful. They never failed to calm her, even at the heights of her emotional outbursts. Simone sighed.
“Honestly,” she said, “I’m thinking that I’m scared shitless but I sort of can’t wait to set that house on fire. I’ve never liked it. It’s always creeped me out and now it’s going to burn I can’t help but feel a little excited about it.”
Nick laughed and Simone responded by frowning severely.
“Is that fucked up?”
“Yeah,” Nick said, still hiccupping with laughter. She had always loved his laugh, a goofy sound that seemed to encapsulate happiness. “It’s why I love you.”
Simone’s frown melted away and was replaced with a smile. “I love you too.”
He kissed her then, pulling her close and wrapping his arms around her. She leaned into him, kissing him back with fervour, fuelled by a sudden rush of desire. Nick’s lips were soft and gentle; for all her roughness she loved the way they felt on her own sensitive mouth. But then she pulled back and said, gasping, “Do you think we’re going to die tonight?”
Nick stared at her levelly and said, completely deadpan: “What are you thinking, dead brother walking?”
Simone stared at him, and he looked back at her. After a moment she could see him trying to hold back the smile that threatened to creep along his face. After a few more seconds it inevitably became too much and he burst into laughter again. Simone, though angry that he was dismissing her concerns in favour of glibness, couldn’t help but start laughing herself. Nick was that sort of person, the kind of person that spreads joy just by existing.
Nick collected himself and looked deeply into Simone’s eyes, serious now.
“I don’t know if we’re going to die. Neither of us are virgins either, as you might be aware. In terms of narrative conventions, I’d say we were pretty screwed.”
She hit him on the arm, not too hard a punch but with enough force to show that she was serious, and he’d responded by laughing again and pulling them down on the bed. They lay face to face, side by side, looking into each other’s eyes.
“Look, I don’t actually know what’s going to happen tonight, so I can’t make any promises other than this,” Nick said, stroking Simone’s face, winding a lock of golden hair around his little finger. “I can promise that if you try your best not to die, I’ll try my best not to die. And maybe we could try and help each other to not die, should the situation call for it.”
Simone shuffled in closer, pressing her face to Nick’s neck. She breathed him in; he smelled of old pub smoke and whisky and deodorant. The smell of him had always turned her on.
“I promise to try not to die,” Simone said, her lips shifting against the skin of his neck. He shivered.
“Then I promise to try not to die.”
And that was that. Simone leaned up and Nick lowered his head so that their lips could meet again. They felt so right with each other; it never failed to amaze her. That this may be their last night together only intensified the feelings of need that sprang up in her as she lay in the arms of the man that she loved.
“Tell me it’ll be okay,” she said between kisses, breathily and needful. “I don’t care if it’s not true.”
His hands roamed her back, finding the clasps of her bra and expertly unhooking with a smooth movement of the fingers. Nick kissed Simone’s jaw, moving down to her neck, nipping at the skin and causing her to gasp. He smiled against her collarbone.
“It’ll be okay,” he said. “I’m here. We’re together.”
Somehow, Simone realised, that made it all right. She pulled his face up to hers and into a kiss, wanting him to know how much she needed him, and when he kissed her back it seemed to say that he needed her too. That was why he was still here with her. There could be no other reason; that’s what love is.
They lay together, two lovers sighing into each other as the clock ticked ever forward, bringing them closer to the fight awaiting them. Nick laced his fingers through hers and they gripped at each other’s hands with all their strength as they were joined together. For a little while, they both felt invincible.
And now here they were, making their way down those hellish steps again towards the cavern in the cliffs. Abrahms had disappeared elsewhere, but he had informed them earlier that he had reason to believe that the cavern would lead into the castle somehow, hopefully leading up to the cellars. Places like this, he said, sometimes had hidden escape routes for the lord and lady of the mansion in the event of peasant revolt or some other difficulty that required them to flee. He had read books about it, which was more than Simone or Nick could say they’d done, and so they had no one else to trust but him. Simone felt sick at the thought of going back into that cave; she also recalled her passionate assertions that she would never, ever do this again. She wasn’t expecting it to happen twice in as many evenings. She was just thankful that it wasn’t dark. When they finally made it down, it was all that she could do not to kiss the wet stones beneath her feet.
Nick felt very glad of his torch, which he brandished wildly now that they were no longer at risk of death, shining a light into the cavern to help them see beyond what the grey light outside offered. As Emily had predicted, the body of Howard Wilson was gone. Nick and Simone shuddered at the same time, each thinking the same thing, wondering what had happened to him.
“Jesus,” Simone said huskily.
Nick shone a light on the black boxes, laid out on the ground. Raised stone by the head of one of the boxes revealed another carved stair case. Nick whistled.
“Well I’ll be,” he said. “The rev was right.”
“Great, let’s throw him a party when we get back,” Simone said sullenly. Water was dripping on her head from the rocks above her. “Now that we’re here, what are we supposed to do again?”
“One of us has to stay here with the boxes and douse them in lighter fluid. The other goes into the house to deal with the big portrait above the stairs.”
“Those are both fantastic options,” Simone blanched. “Really, I feel spoiled for choice.”
“Well you know the house, don’t you?” Nick said. “You’ve been here on school trips, you said.”
Simone gave a frustrated sigh. “Yes, I know the house. Please don’t remind me of those school trips, I try to make a habit of keeping terrible experiences out of my memory. Trust me when I say that I’m going to have to work so hard to forget all of this.”
Nick smiled and shook his head. “You won’t forget this, and I certainly won’t.”
“How can you be so calm?” Simone said, coming close to a shriek. “We’re in a fucking cavern in the cliffs and one of us is about to break into the house of some… fucking… I don’t know, some fucking vampire thing with nothing more than a bit of lighter fluid and a smile! What the hell are we doing, Nick? What are we going up against?”
In the dark, Nick leaned forward and kissed Simone’s forehead; she made a small, defeated noise in response and threw her arms around his middle, like a child seeking protection from something that frightened them. They held each other for a while, listening to each other breathing, full in their knowledge of their love for each other if nothing else.
“Okay, I’ll go,” Simone muttered into Nick’s jacket. “You can stay here and guard the stupid death boxes or whatever.”
“Gracious as ever,” Nick said, kissing her softly on the lips. “Be safe, and I’ll be safe.”
Simone snorted. “Yeah, sure.”
With a shrug of the shou
lders she began making her way up the steps, armed with her own torch to lead the way. Nick watched her go, carefully watching her back as she disappeared into the darkness. He couldn’t cast away the worry in his heart as he did so. When she was gone he waited alone, deeply aware of the silence that surrounded him. Being with the boxes by himself gave him the creeps, and he fumbled in the pocket of his jacket for the lighter fluid he’d been instructed to bring, wrapping his fingers around it like a luck charm. Soon, after night had fallen, Simone would come back to give him the signal, and he would pour the stuff over the boxes and set them alight with a spark of his Zippo. He wanted to do it now, but he had to give Emily a chance to get the vampire while it was at its strongest.
But now, he would have to wait. He hoped that Simone was doing all right and wondered how the hell they were ever going to have a normal date after this. This really was not what he was expecting when his punky girlfriend asked him for a weekend by the seaside. He’d had childish dreams of ice cream and donkey rides, and yet here he was in, as Simone would say, a fucking cavern. It was a good thing that he’d never grown out of that irrepressible sense of adventure that had plagued his mother throughout his youth. He thought of the stories that he would tell when all of this was over and who would believe him. Probably nobody, but he didn’t care. He’d tell the stories anyway. Nick was the sort of man that loved to entertain people. The other thought was that he must really love Simone to be doing what he was doing right now, and he smiled in the knowledge that that it was true.
He waited for a long, long time. Eventually the sun began to sink in the sky and the cavern grew ever darker, and once the sun had finally disappeared Nick figured that Emily had arrived at last and he began to wonder about what was going on. It occurred to him that he should set the boxes on fire like he was supposed to, but for some reason he just continued leaning against the rock. Idly, he wondered if the boxes were having some weird effect on him. Nick didn’t notice the shifting sound of the box being opened, not at first. His attention was caught instead by a squeaking up above, and when he shone his torch up there he found, clinging to the rock, a bat hanging upside down, wings wrapped around itself like a neat little package. It twitched when the light touched it, disturbed and evidently disgruntled, and before Nick knew it, the bat had descended on him, flapping its leathery wings in his face. Nick cried out, swinging his arms in front of his face. He stepped further into the cavern, determined not to be panicked into falling over the edge.
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