Twice I pulled myself away from killing, though neither man deserved the release. Twice I berated myself for the desires … for what I was. On the mountain I had been nearly contained, surviving casually on the formula and food. Since leaving that place, I had not tasted mortal food, and on that night formula was as water. I craved sustenance … I craved the thick taste … the warm splash as it first touches the tongue. I was weak with it, and exhilarated by it, compelled to the darkest corners of a dark city where death was a regular occurrence. It was there, in the shadows of my own soul that I came to myself. I passed a darkened window and beheld it … the reflection of a ghost.
The ages had come to rest in my eyes; images of my former selves resided there. My pale skin glowed in the light of a full moon and the Change had come upon me unaware. The black silk of the gown blended with my hair, making the silver streaks that much more prominent. I appeared, even to myself, a frail woman of declining years, whose dark secrets would no longer be kept. I stood there near onto an hour, examining the stranger I barely recognized, wondering how old I had come to be. It was as if I stared into my mother's eyes … not the vacant expression of her addiction to the blood, but the passionate woman underneath. She would not be denied. Then, in a flicker of the nearby light, the Change faded … and with it my strength.
The walk home was long and by the time I reached the door, I was tired beyond all measure. I decided I needed someone with me … someone to balance me. I longed for Francis and her unerring ways of making me right. I did not even pretend to retire, only sent a young boy to fetch me a lawyer. When the man arrived, a stale smelling fellow in his mid-fifties, I explained to him that I was searching for my daughter who had last been known to be heading in this direction. I was certain that Francis would expect me to follow, and leave clues as to her whereabouts. I described both her and Joy to the man, and explained the rather large sums available to the one to find her. He left shortly, assuring me that he would use all of his resources to do exactly as I asked.
I found it difficult to sleep, and dangerous to be awake. I felt weak … old. For the better part of the day and most of the following night, I paced in the confines of my room. When at last I slept, it was in fitful spurts, haunted by nightmares filled with blood and death. It was short, and I rose near to dawn feeling hardly rested. Mrs. Pliece, an elderly, maternal sort who was in charge of the household servants came to offer me breakfast, but I dismissed her immediately, claiming a sour stomach. She withdrew courteously enough, but I could sense that she would return.
I drank down several bottles of formula and disappeared into the basement lab to refill them. When the sun had only begun to turn toward setting, I wrapped myself and took to the streets, prowling. I searched each passing face for something familiar, scoured the shops for what it was I craved. I listened to the night, hearing the voices that echoed unheard by mortal man. As darkness fled, I returned home, tired and hungry. Mrs. Pliece met me at the door and escorted me into the kitchen where she had already prepared a small meal. The tea was hot, steaming. It seemed to comfort something inside me, soothe a part of the animal. She spoke softly, of nothing in particular, but her voice was simple, lightly touched with the courtly tongue of the city. The eggs and meat were tasty, the bread soft and still warm from the oven. I suddenly discovered I was famished and began to devour the food. “That's better,” she said, bustling about me. “A good meal will do wonders for you. It's time we put some meat on those bones.” She smiled and I found myself smiling back. It was nice to be cared for again.
When I had finished the food she had set before me, she prepared a hot bath, lightly scented with lavender. It reminded me of Willemenia, and I wondered idly what had become of her. She washed my hair, wrapped me in a warm robe, and tucked me into the comfort of my bed. I drifted to sleep, still hearing her voice singing softly somewhere in the room. Each night after that I would rise and venture out into the streets, searching for my lost family, wandering through vaguely familiar streets with no real pattern, no plan beyond finding them. I would return home, each night more exhausted, each night finding the soothing presence of Mrs. Pliece waiting for me at the door. The rest of the house seemed invisible, providing their services without leaving a mark. Only she appeared to me, caring for me as one would their own elderly mother.
Through it all, I aged. I could see it, visibly marking the advancing signs of my years as they etched themselves upon my face. The reports came from the lawyer I had retained, word of his search, of the path of my daughter and Joy. They had indeed come to London, and there had made their home for several months before they had journeyed north. They had lived in a small town for a time, teaching at a school there. Several times the trail grew cold, and it would be months before I would hear from him again. Still, I searched closer to home, somehow believing I would find them there, in that dark city where so many secrets were so easily hidden.
I settled into a manner of existence, finding an uneasy rhythm in the house that never fully felt as my own. The place seemed more to belong to Mrs. Pliece and the small army of servants she commanded, and I was merely a visitor there. A year passed in that way. A year of quasi existence in which I became a doddering old woman who searched the night for her lost children. I dreamed as I slept of times past, of happy days with Jesse, with Rebeka, with Lu Sin and the girls. I woke often speaking their names. At night, when I wasn't searching the city I was writing, pouring my life into the journals that had become my life's last passion. I had determined to put it all down, the pain and joy, the multitude of sins. It went beyond the writing I had done in the past. It became a test of my ability to remember, to admit.
It was winter when it occurred, the event that would shake me out of my complacency. We were closing in on the turn of a century. I ventured out into London, wrapped in a black cloak that swept the damp cobblestone streets, with a knit scarf to protect my frail, translucent skin from the cold night air. It was early in the evening, scarcely after dark. My boots echoed around me, the sound spurring my steps further away from the familiar streets I had been hunting.
There was a scent on the cold breeze. It was familiar, and yet vague. I followed it almost without knowing it. I felt the weight of each of my years on my shoulders as I passed the dismal alleys filled with the stench of rotting food and human waste. The wraith-like image that glimpsed at me from dirty windows seemed like someone else, the image of a woman long past her years. The streets were nearly empty, and the few souls out were scurrying homeward. I watched them, scanning their faces as I had hundreds of them in the last year.
Then, in the dim light of a nearby gaslight I saw it, sensed it. She was hurrying, her eyes down, her head covered by a cloak pulled tightly around her. She didn't see me. I stopped, my eyes caught upon her, locked on the half-familiar face. She had aged some, the nearly three years between that night when I had last held her in my arms and that moment when I beheld her again taking their toll on her young features. I could tell from that one moment that she was no longer the innocent adolescent on the verge of becoming a woman. Her face tilted as she reached the streetlight and it was like looking back in time to the night I had first seen Rebeka.
Still, she didn't spot me, and I was frozen for the moment. She turned a corner and I was freed, scurrying after her. I saw her enter a building, watched as she moved past lighted windows to greet a small child. As I moved closer I could hear laughter, soft conversation. Then I saw Francis. She came from the kitchen, carrying a steaming pot of something. I stood outside that window and watched as they ate, as they spoke of the day, as they retired for the evening.
I returned there the next night, and the night after that. I watched their lives, something within settled simply to see them, to feel them nearby. I hovered outside of their existence, feeling my body age with each passing night. I learned what I could about them, sent word to the lawyer I had retained to find them and set him about the trail.
I learned that Francis wo
uld give birth in only a few weeks. Her husband was a teacher, a professor of history with a young daughter of his own whose mother had died in childbirth. They had returned to London when he had accepted the position at the college. Joy was working as a nurse at a nearby hospital, a job she was well suited for.
There were moments when I would have sworn they had felt my presence, the turn of a head, the touch of an eye, but not once was it acknowledged. I kept my distance, but constantly shadowed the small family. I slept deeply in the day, beyond dreams and visions. I rose shortly before sunset, to Mrs. Pliece's care. She would bathe me, comb out the long, gray locks of hair and feed me before I took to the streets. I would carry only a bottle of formula and a few coins in my sack as I haunted the night. I would follow them, stand outside their windows waiting to catch a glimpse of them. They were still night creatures, staying awake long after the streets around them had gone quiet. They spoke softly, read quietly, and retired to their beds wordlessly.
I was there the night the baby came, letting myself into that apartment, slipping in with the soft breeze to hover in the shadows and gaze at them. Francis slept soundly, her light snore resonating around the room, into my soul. The babe slept at her breast, a beautiful daughter … my own granddaughter. I found myself smiling at her. I could sense her strength, her fierce independence.
The husband slept in the chair beside the bed. He was a handsome man, if I were to judge. His hair was a rich brown, full and thick. An equally full mustache hid his upper lip. I sighed silently and drifted into Joy's room.
Joy's sleep was not as deep, she tossed lightly in the grip of some dream. Her scent filled the room, awakening the same emotions that had roused me to nearly take her once before. I inhaled sharply. My heartbeat quickened at the scent. I knelt beside her, near one hand that had fallen outside the coverings. It shined palely, glistening with the vibrant life that called to me. I hovered there, my eyes closed as I centered myself on her once more. I didn't leave there until daylight had already begun to creep in at the windows.
The next night was the same, and for many weeks after that. I was sedated just to be near them, soothed by the scent of them. I began to recapture something of normality, visiting the high society places in town, eating at some of the finest restaurants, attending charity events. Near dawn I would always stop there, at that little apartment. I would steal inside and sit with them as daylight came. Then, I would return to my home, drink from my formula and sleep.
It was the daughter who caught me at it first. I stood by the cradle, watching the infant sleep. I felt her waking, but not quickly enough to hide. Her eyes opened wide as she saw me, but she didn't call out. I held up my hands. “Don't be frightened child. I only came to see the babe,” I said.
“Maybe you should have knocked on the door.” The sound seared into me, that voice. I caught my breath and looked up.
“Joy.” I stepped closer. “I'm sorry. I hadn't thought to intrude.”
She shook her head, golden tresses cascading around her face so that I couldn't see her. I worried that she was angry, that she would send me away. I waited breathlessly for her to speak again. It seemed a lifetime would pass.
“Mother … Amara.” She stepped closer, her hands on the child's shoulders. “This is Anna, Bryant's daughter. Anna, this is Amara, Francis's mother.”
Those big green eyes blinked and the girl curtsied deeply. “Pleasure, ma'am.”
Joy smiled and I melted. “Now, get back to bed before you wake the house.” When she was once more tucked under her blankets, Joy came to stand beside me, looking down at the sleeping infant. “And this is Amanda, your granddaughter.”
“She's beautiful,” I whispered. Joy's hand settled on mine and I inhaled deeply. “Tell me, is he a good man?”
Joy looked at me and nodded. “Yes, very. You would like him.”
“And you? Have you met no one since leaving our little home?”
She sighed and rested her head on my shoulder. “There is no one for me but you, Mother. I had hoped you would have learned that by now.”
I stroked her hair and felt myself fill with her presence. “I do, I only asked….” What? To reassure myself? I sighed and she looked up at me.
“We should wake Francis.”
I stiffened. “There is little time 'til sunrise now.”
She hooked her arm through mine. “There is a place here where you will be safe enough. You're not running out on us again.”
She drew me through the small home, stopping me outside the bedroom door where Francis and her husband slept. “Wait here.” She slipped inside and a few minutes later the door creaked open and Francis was there, looking at me with tears in her eyes. I was crying too as she came and wrapped her arms around me. She was soft and warm and I was comforted. I shook as she released me. Tears rolled down my cheeks and I reached out to hold them both at once, laughing and kissing their hair as though twenty years had passed, rather than just three.
“My beautiful girls,” I said when I finally found my voice. “Look at you.” I smoothed Francis's hair out of her eyes. “All grown up.”
The smile on my daughter's face was bright. “I missed you, Mother.” She drew me to the kitchen table and we sat. We were still there, the three of us as dawn ate away the dark and I was forced from the room. We withdrew then into Joy's room, which had no windows. I spent the day with them, held my granddaughter, met my son-in-law, caught up on the details of their lives. By nightfall it was nearly as if we had never been apart.
I took my leave of them in the evening, returning to my home and submitting to Mrs. Pliece's ministrations and scolding for worrying her. I was content. I could smell Joy on my clothes, my daughter forgave me, and she had a beautiful family.
The next months were a whirlwind of visits and getting to know them all over again. My passion returned to me, the hunger that I hadn't fed in years gnawed at me. I hadn't tasted human blood since that night I had last tasted Joy. I found I craved it enough to hunt the dark London streets. I killed twice in the first three months after they had found me out. Both men were killers, and both had provided me a pleasure I hadn't expected, along with the strength and warmth of the feeding.
Chapter 25
I grew complacent again, dwelling in some dream state that I believed I could control. Of course, my own life should have taught me better. It was in the early spring. London was wet and cold. I was on my way to the theatre, the carriage moving through the muffled streets slowly, weaving around the pedestrian traffic. I was tired, resting my head against the velvet padding. The age of my body had become increasingly difficult for me. The carriage clattered to a halt, waiting for some blockage in the road ahead to clear. Out of the corner of my eye, in the swirling crowd, I spotted him.
It was quick, the momentary glimpse I might have dismissed had it been any other face. It was pale, scant. It reflected years of hunger and internal suffering. If he saw me as well, it didn't show. He disappeared into the mix of human faces. I sat up, moved closer to the window. I searched, but he was gone. The carriage began to move, slowly pulling away from where he had been. The world outside my window seemed to move in slow motion, the people barely breathing.
Then, among them, her face lightly covered with a scarf, was Joy. A single blonde curl escaped the scarf to gently move across her face as she walked. She smiled at a young girl as she passed, her eyes skimmed the crowd. They danced across the carriage, but didn't really see me. Then, he was there again, passing by her, his eyes caught on her face. I could sense the quickening that took place within him, smell the Change boiling within. She slowed her steps, glancing behind her toward him without seeing him. He blended into the crowd, but I knew he had marked her, he felt that which drew me to her.
I called out for the driver to stop the carriage and had opened the door to step out almost before he had. I had lost sight of her in the crowd, but my eyes picked him out, marked the ragged coat he held tightly around him. I sent the driver ho
me and began to follow him, knowing he was following her. My heart was pounding.
We made several turns, crossed several streets. We were approaching the apartment where Joy and Francis and their family lived. The streets had begun to empty out. I spotted Joy ahead of us, then there was another. He was younger, less hungry, but he was definitely one of us. He detached himself from the shadows and stepped toward Joy. I felt a rage fill me, swelling up from somewhere forgotten. My pace quickened.
The Hunter must have sensed me then, for he slowed his pace and half turned. The Change had come upon him, and the smile on his face sickened me. He gave up his pretense to humanity and raced forward, his entire being intent upon Joy, upon beating me to her. She noticed them then, the two of them coming toward her. She recognized what they were, her face paled somewhat. Her eyes searched for escape, at last turning to the open spaces of the small park nearby. She ran, the two of them right behind her. I followed, feeling the Change roar to life within.
She tripped, rolled through the grass and they sprang. Daniel, the Hunter, flew at her, grabbing at her hair as she rolled away. They came up together and the younger one moved in, but felt my hand on his neck before he could reach them. I pulled him to me, my face twisted in rage as I snapped my jaws over the thick vein in his neck, drinking in enough to drop him incapacitated to the ground and move on. The Hunter had Joy, her neck bent to his pleasure. His teeth scraped her skin. She was calm, her eyes rising to meet mine. She trusted me to save her.
I met her eyes, tried to make her feel me the way Rebeka once had. “Hello, Daniel,” I said lowly, moving closer to them.
He laughed, his lunacy making the sound hollow and dismal. “Hello, Mother,” he snarled, Joy's blood staining his teeth. “This is ironic don't you think?” he asked. He had tasted enough of her to know her, to know the truth. “We've been here before haven't we, Mother?”
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