It came time for the gifts. For Francis I had purchased a beautiful china doll, complete with a matching dress for her to wear. To Joy I gave a hand-painted horse sculpture. It had reminded me of her when I saw it in the store window. Somewhere in her past there was a great love of horses she had yet to find in this life. Lu Sin rose then, and brought in her gifts, two pure black Labrador puppies. The girls squealed with delight, each reaching into the box to pull out one of the dogs and hug it tightly to them.
“They are beautiful, are they not?” she asked me as we watched the two girls playing.
“Indeed. It is a most thoughtful gift. Thank you, my friend.”
“I have brought a gift for you as well,” she lifted a small package onto the table. I looked at it for a long time before I moved to accept it.
“There was no need–”
“Yes, there was.”
I inclined my head and opened it. Inside there was a small book, with leather binding and blank pages and the word “Journal” written in gold on the front cover. Beside it was a quill pen of the kind I had used when I was younger, and a small vial of black ink. Beneath it all the surface of a mirror shined up at me. I slowly pulled the mirror up and held it up to the flickering light of the nearby candles. It was a beautiful piece of work, done all in silver with tiny flecks of gemstones highlighting the delicate design. The smooth surface of the mirror was nearly hypnotic as I peered in at my reflection. I was somewhat shocked at what I saw there, the gray that had come to highlight the hair at my crown and temples, the tiny imperfections in my once flawless skin. My eyes alone remained untouched by my years in the solitary wilderness. They sparkled as Lu Sin's did.
“I would like for you to write for me,” she said quietly. “I have enjoyed what little I have read of your words, and your life is so full of history. I pray you take this as an invitation to share it with the world.”
“And the mirror?” I asked, my eyes dancing to where the puppies were playfully tugging at the children.
“To remind you of how you are … of how strong and wonderful you are. Every now and then it doesn't hurt to admit to yourself, Amara.”
It was the first time she had used my name so casually. It felt … comfortable. I suddenly realized she was leaving, and a sharp pain stabbed at me. I wanted her to stay, I was afraid of myself without her. She touched my arm and the old desires came floating back into my mind. A vague memory of the night Francis had been born and Lu Sin's comforting ways and touches filled me. If she sensed it, she remained silent.
“Come, hunt with me,” she said finally, when the silence had grown too long.
It was the first time she had ever offered, perhaps because she had known I would always refuse her. Until that moment. I rose from my place and slipped into my shoes. “Girls, behave yourselves. Lu Sin and I are going out for a walk.”
We went into the woods which had begun encroaching on our little house. I made a mental note to get someone to cut back the young trees. The night was still, and somewhat chilly, the last vestiges of a cruel winter blowing through the thick trees. There was precious little wildlife about, and Lu Sin didn't seem particularly interested with any of it. We walked, arm in arm through the familiar territory like two friends who knew that at the end of their walk would be something to change them forever.
Nearly an hour from the cabin, she took her arm from mine and turned to face me. “I want you to know how much these last years have meant to me,” she said. “I might have died alone and poor in the streets of some cold city, but you came for me, took me away from the ugliness of my life, brought me to this beautiful place. You gave me a purpose, and desires. I should have been a better friend for it.” She took both my hands and held them between us. “Never blame yourself for this. I knew the moment I laid eyes on you that you had come to save me. I knew what you were then, and waited for the moment to arrive when you would make me like you.”
I think I felt tears welling up inside me as she spoke, knowing this would be goodbye forever. “Don't leave, Lu Sin. I need you here.”
She smiled a sad little smile. “No you don't, you never did. You let yourself be convinced that you need people, but you are so strong, so self-willed. There will never be anyone you need more than yourself. You will survive.”
The words of Crenoral floated to me on a night breeze, echoing in my head as if to taunt me. “Your will to live is too strong,” he had said on the night he died.
“You have taught me a great deal, my friend. I shall never forget you for that.” I squeezed her hand lightly.
She kissed my cheek then, and let me go. I closed my eyes and waited, not wanting to watch her walk away. When I knew she had gone I turned and headed for the house. It was quiet when I returned, the exhausted puppies piled in a heap of black fur on the living room rug while Francis and Joy studied their lessons by the fire. I set about cleaning up after our party, putting dirty dishes in the basin to be washed and gathering the crinkled colored paper of the wrappings to be used another time.
There was an emptiness in the air, a hollow feeling I couldn't seem to shake, even as I tucked Francis into bed, a tiny kiss on her forehead. “Is Lu Sin ever coming home?” she asked, her dark eyes half closed.
“No, Francis, my love. Lu Sin has moved onto another place. We will likely never see her again.”
“She is my friend.” Francis had a way of saying things simply.
“I know. She is my friend as well. We will wish all good things her way.”
I left her nearly asleep to check on Joy. It was more out of habit than necessity, after all she was no longer a child. She was sitting at her vanity, combing out the long blonde tresses I so adored. Her cotton nightgown glowed in the soft light. I smiled. She did too.
“Sleep well,” I said.
I withdrew then to my room, taking my gifts with me. I lay across the bed with the mirror, exploring a face I hadn't really seen in years. The tiny wrinkles that kissed my eyes and mouth were as foreign to me as the gray in my hair. How long had it been, I asked myself? How long? I heard the creak of a board and looked up to find Joy in the doorway. “Might I come in?”
“Of course, Child.” I sat up, beckoning her closer. I set aside the mirror. “What is it?”
“I don't know. I felt like you needed something.”
I smiled and took her hand. “I am told that I need nothing,” I said, glancing at the journal. “Did you have fun tonight?”
“Yes, thank you. My parents never really thought much about birthdays.” She tossed her blonde curls over one shoulder and I could see that she was wearing the sapphire I had given her all those years before. “I think about them sometimes, and everything they did for me. Is it wrong to think of them as strangers?” There was an air about her of the lost, struggling to put into words what her heart and soul were whispering to her. Perhaps it was time she came to know herself.
I shook my head. “No, they were good people, but you were already looking for someone else when they brought you into this world. You are older than they, merely staying with them while your body matured. Even had they lived a while longer, you might have eventually come to feel that way.”
Her eyes grew distant, and I sensed she was tapping into that other person, that ancient soul. “I was looking for you,” she said. “I've looked for you over and over.”
I drew her to me, laying her head to rest on my shoulder. “Aye, you have. Once before you found me, but I was unable to save you.”
“I was like you, and I was.…” She sat up, her face pale and her eyes big. I could see in their depths a shiver of shared memory, of a horror that shook us both.
I closed my mind to it, shutting off the darkest chapter in my life and shushing her stammered phrases that sought to describe it. “It's long past now, love, long gone into the history of time. Let us not speak of it again.” I held her for a long moment, until I felt her control tighten on her new-found memory, then she sat up.
“When yo
u first knew me, when I was still a baby … I knew then, didn't I?” she asked, and in her face was the awe and wonderment of a woman discovering herself.
“Yes, I believe you did. That is probably what drew me to you then.”
“And now?”
I yawned, suddenly weary of the whole night's events. “That is up to you, Joy. In the next weeks and months, you will likely begin to remember more about us, about your past. It will be up to you to decide what to do then. For now, I suggest a good sleep and some time to adjust to the changes in our lives.”
She smiled then, and the oddity of her expression vanished, she was once again a young girl on the verge of womanhood, beautiful and awkward and so divine. She kissed my cheek and left the room. My heart was pounding fiercely. It came upon me so quickly that I was glad she had left me alone. I hadn't been prepared for the ferocity of it, the smell of her fresh, young blood and the sight of her smile overwhelmed me. I turned myself back to the mirror, staring into the Changed face, wondering what manner of man would invite this demon into its life.
Slowly, the Change left me and I sat staring in at the face of a woman who seemed to age before my eyes. It was as if my myriad years attacked me and painted my hair with gray as I sat there. I put the mirror down and picked up the journal. It smelled clean, of new leather and well pressed paper. I opened it slowly, staring at the blank ivory page for a long time before my hand reached for the quill and ink. I had no idea where to start, what to say. So much history, so many gory details. I held the pen and waited. I had often written pieces of myself, chapters of remembrances I cared to save. Tidbits of forever. Now, Lu Sin had asked for the whole.
The words began themselves, spinning onto the page in a rush. I wrote for hours, beginning at the beginning of time, spilling my soul and memory out in a spreading display of black ink. There were times I felt out of breath, taken in by my own story, and times when I felt as cold and distant as the Others I wrote about. Before I was aware of the passing of time, the sun was setting and I could hear the girls rising. I set aside my pen and journal and rose.
The puppies were named Princess and Prince respectively, although which one belonged to whom was up in the air. If Joy remembered any of our conversation, she said nothing, simply setting about her chores, as did Francis. So much had changed in the last twenty-four hours, so little appeared different. I smiled as Francis played with the puppies, as I watched Joy making breakfast. It was comfortable, and yet chaffing, restricting. My mind flashed from that moment to the times I had been writing about, when my own self-control had not yet exerted itself and my life had been filled with the darkness of the demon, the freedom of the night.
So would many of the next nights be, the changes subtly influencing our small lives, slowly marking the next turn. Time moved on, and Francis followed Joy's example, maturing into a beautiful young woman before my very eyes. She was the dark shadow of Joy's light, the perfect balance between them. Those gifts of my unnatural creation made themselves manifest, lending her an air of mystery, distraction. In her eyes I saw what I was to her, what I had somehow become. She knew the dark side of me, but somehow I was more than that. Her love for me dressed me as a good woman, a mother, giving, strong, able to protect her from anything the night could create.
In my mirror, I aged. Slowly to be sure, but the signs of encroaching age were unavoidable. How long had it been since I had last tasted death? How long since warm, fresh blood had crossed my lips unhindered? I wondered if that was the cause of my decay, if without it I was as my mortal brethren, running from time as if from the day. I looked up from my usual place, in my chair, beside the fire. Francis was at the table, an ancient book in her hands. Joy sat near me, knitting something.
I didn't see the children in them anymore. Suddenly in that moment they were women, full grown and wise beyond their collective years. As if sensing the direction of my thoughts, Joy looked up. That forbidden knowledge looked back at me. Her blue eyes sparkled with what could only be described as love. It was the same look I often saw in my daughter's eyes for me. It quickened the beating of my heart, stirred the never quite extinguished coals of desire. I looked away.
Francis had felt it … I could feel her eyes on me. I rose and went to join her. “What are you reading, darling?”
“History,” she replied simply. Hers was not the gift of many words. “Are you all right, Mother?”
I nodded wearily and sat beside her at the old, hand carved table. “Yes, Francis, I'm fine. A little tired perhaps.” I felt old sitting there beside her, old and out of place. More than twenty years had passed since I had first come to that place, heavy with the burden of my child. Nothing seemed to have moved in that time, all the furnishings, all the décor. Only the people in it moved. Princess raised her head from the floor to look at me, as if to add herself to my appraisal. Prince made some noise in his sleep and ignored me.
I patted Francis's hand reassuringly, and left the room. In the privacy of my bedchamber, I relaxed. It was my private sanctuary, where even my greatest self-torments left me alone. I turned to writing, as I often did when feeling my own age. It was as if I could reclaim that youth as I wrote it down.
The restless spirit wouldn't leave me, as if something were coming, something near, but not yet visible. I tossed and turned and rose from my bed. I paced the room, drinking down formula. I found myself outside, in the early hours of the morning, looking into the slowly lightening sky. Idly I wondered if I could sit there as dawn came. I knew I never would. I sighed repeatedly, longing for something I dared not name.
She came to me, perhaps feeling whatever it was that had called me out there, maybe just knowing I needed her. I felt her approach, deep inside of me I could feel every movement as she came. My heartbeat matched hers, as it always did when she was close to me, my breathing was rapid, shallow. I could smell her, and I craved to taste her. My tongue remembered it, that one moment of weakness when I had tasted the divinity of her … remembered it and wanted more.
It would be different now, slightly aged, richer than it had been, but still so sweet a taste … so delicious. I closed my eyes as she sat beside me on the small bench. “What keeps you up so late, Mother?” she asked.
I caught my breath as I felt her hand touch the side of my face. Her touch was soft, sensual. Her concern for me was likely to be my final undoing. She couldn't know what her presence beside me did to me. Perhaps she did, and her aim was to torment me out of this sulking melancholy that had taken me when Lu Sin had left. I wouldn't look at her. “I couldn't sleep, Joy. It is nothing.”
“You are so restless. Shall I rub your back for you?” Her hands slipped up to my shoulders, her strong fingers kneading at the tense muscles. I closed my eyes and took a deep, harsh breath. It was nearly impossible to sit still as her hands touched me, trailing fire across my back as she rubbed. She couldn't see it in me, so intent in her task, but it boiled, breaking the surface and changing me.
I didn't move. She couldn't see this face, she couldn't know. I couldn't look upon her and not fall to feeding. I kept my face down, covered by the cascade of hair. I bit my lip to keep from jumping from the bench. Still, she continued. “Stop!” I said breathlessly, pulling forward just a bit. “Go inside, Joy. Go to bed. I will be in shortly.”
She must have heard the harshness in my voice, the fear, the self-loathing. She had to leave me, I could contain myself no longer. She stepped away, but did not do as I asked. For a heartbeat we simply sat in perfect stillness, then she was at my feet, looking up into my Changed face, her blue eyes wide with love and fear. “No,” she said. “No, this time I will not make it easy for you. I am here. You will have to face me.”
“No.” I pulled back from her, turning my face to the sky. “No, go away from me. I cannot fight this.”
She didn't move, just sat there on her knees before me, holding my hands and rooting me to my spot. My body trembled; my soul wavered between accepting what I was and continuing to rebel aga
inst myself. “Joy, I beg of you, go inside.”
“No.” She reached a hand up to touch my cheek. I could hear the rush of blood at her wrist, nearly taste it as it paused so close to my mouth. The smell was overpowering. I kissed her palm and moaned with the exertion it took to pull away. “You have desired me since the dawn of time, Mother, since that day when you left me on the side of a dirt road. Here I am.”
“I spared you then. I would do the same now.”
“Maybe it isn't your choice. Maybe you were meant to take my life centuries ago. Perhaps that is why I have sought you out over and over.”
“Joy, please.” My head was swimming with images, of that girl so long ago, of Rebeka, mine for so short a time. “I could never forgive myself.”
“I forgive you already.” She rose up on her knees, her eyes seeking out mine. Her throat lay there before me, unprotected, beating with life. “Come. If you truly cannot resist me, come and taste.”
I came undone, falling to my knees in the dewy grass and pulling her into my tight embrace. My mouth quivered as it neared her milky flesh, and my heartbeat wrapped around hers. She shivered as my teeth penetrated the skin, as the first taste of her danced onto my tongue. Then she was still. The warmth of life flooded me, erasing an ancient chill I hadn't recognized before. I drank deeply, pulling the exquisiteness of her into me. As always, with the blood came her memories, her life. As that time before when I had held her in my arms and drank from her, I saw the flashing images of her myriad lives. I saw the child who had haunted my nights, the woman who healed the sick in Nepal. I saw my poor, doomed Adroushan. I saw my Rebeka as a child, maturing into the half-woman, half-girl I had known. I saw her die. Through her eyes, I saw the Hunter.
I pulled away, blood smearing my face and staining my nightgown. She lay on the grass, stunned, dazed by the loss of blood. I looked up and around me, half expecting the Hunter to be there with us. He was not. It was only the two of us. The Change slipped away from me and I leaned over Joy. She would live. Her blood coursed through me, erasing the weariness and fatigue that had plagued me. I was hot, feeling the returning strength and embarrassment, anger at my lack of control, at her temptation. I scooped her up and carried her into her bedroom. I lay her out on her bed, covering her lovingly. I never looked back, fleeing out into the waning night as if there were demons chasing me. Perhaps there were.
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