by Kristen Reed
“You’re awfully contemplative,” Augustus said, locking the bedroom door behind us.
“I’m thinking about what you said about Cassandra.”
“And?”
“It just hadn’t occurred to me that vampires could love,” I admitted.
“As vampires, preying on humans is a necessity, which can lessen our compassion for them, but that doesn’t make us soulless or deprive us of the ability to feel,” he pointed out. “Our views on how humans should be treated vary as greatly as humans’ views on the treatment of livestock.”
“But vampires were all born as humans. Humans weren’t born as cows or chickens.”
“Yes, and that makes the depths of some vampires’ indifference even more tragic and incomprehensible.”
“Tragic is right,” I said as I took off the borrowed blazer and sat down on the bench at the foot of the bed.
“Did meeting Anna and Patrick move you enough to make a decision?”
“Seeing that Patrick was willing to open a vein at a nice dinner table with a stranger sitting across from him was the most disturbing thing I’ve ever seen.”
“But not disturbing enough to inspire conviction,” he realized. “What can I do to give you peace of mind about accepting my proposal?”
“I don’t know.”
I studied Augustus for a moment, wondering why he had so much more compassion for the humans than his prickly counterparts did. After living as a vampire for six hundred years, I was surprised that he felt any sort of kinship or obligation to humans. Yet instead of his heart hardening to their plight, his conscience had driven him to betray his own people to ensure the slaves’ freedom.
Why is his conviction stronger than mine is, I wondered enviously. Is he really that positive that his plan won’t fail or is something greater than confidence driving him?
“Were you a Christian before you became a vampire?”
“I was Catholic in name only,” he revealed. “I attended mass and confessed at my parents’ insistence, but I never bought into any of it. In fact, I’m not even sure if they truly believed the religion they forced on me because of their appalling, unrepentant behavior.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“How so?”
“Even though my dad checked all of the Christian boxes by going to church and volunteering as a deacon, he abused me when I was a kid,” I shared. “The smallest, most innocent mistakes would set him off and I’d get pushed, slapped, or punched.”
“And your mother?”
“My mom wasn’t perfect, but she did the best she could and tried to shield me from my dad’s anger as much as possible. When I was in middle school, she got fed up with him and filed for divorce. A few years later, she died of breast cancer.”
“That must have been very difficult.”
I shrugged. I didn’t have a problem sharing my story with Augustus or anyone for that matter, but I was hesitant to go too deep emotionally. Discussing my childhood at length usually involved shedding a few tears, and I wasn’t crazy about being that vulnerable in front of Augustus or anyone else on the island. With that in mind, I shifted the focus away from myself.
“What were your parents like?”
“My father committed adultery with a string of mistresses and prostitutes that could have stretched from Florence to Bologna. He was also violent like your father was. Though my mother also had her fair share of affairs, her vice of choice was wine. If we weren’t in public or entertaining guests, she could be found emptying bottles of our best wine into her stomach and then emptying her stomach onto whatever or whoever had the misfortune of being nearby when her drinking caught up with her.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I only endured their poor parenting for a small fraction of my life. Immortality puts the suffering and embarrassment I endured into perspective.”
“I know what you mean. I would have given up a long time ago if I thought this life was the only one I had to look forward to.”
“A Christian and a vampire agreeing on something,” he mused. “I think your pastor would be disappointed.”
“That’s because you don’t know my pastor,” I laughed. “Besides, Christians live with an eternal perspective based on most of that life taking place in heaven and vampires live with an eternal perspective based on all of that life taking place on earth. There are bound to be a couple of philosophical overlaps.”
“And how did you gain that perspective?”
“You mean how did I become a Christian?”
Augustus nodded as he sat beside me.
“Well, I went out drinking with my friends one night and wound up deciding to go home with David, a guy I’d been sleeping with off and on for a few months. I wanted more from him, but I just settled for sex because I hoped that our relationship would eventually become something more. I was really stupid,” I said. “Anyway, as we were leaving the bar, a girl about my age came up to me and handed me a little evangelism tract called Following God. I rolled my eyes so hard that I probably saw my own eye sockets. For some reason, I pushed past my skepticism and decided to read it anyway. The first passage in the booklet was Proverbs 3:5-6. ‘Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your way acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.’ “
Butterflies fluttered in my stomach and my lips curved into a smile as I recalled that fateful night for the umpteenth time.
“While I’d never cracked open the Bible in my life, I recognized that verse because my mom recited it to bless every meal growing up. I don’t know how, but I just knew that God was trying to get my attention. He was telling me that my life wasn’t going the way I wanted because I’d been trying to navigate the world with my so-called wisdom instead of his. I—”
As I told Augustus the story of my conversion, I felt just as convicted by that proverb as I had two years before. I didn’t need to trust Augustus to make a decision about my fate or try to figure it out on my own. I needed to trust God and seek his will through his word to decide if I should become a vampire and try to fulfill Augustus’ prophecy.
Praying is great and all, but God speaks through his word and his people. Up until now, I haven’t run into any of his people here, so the Bible is my best bet.
“Is something wrong,” Augustus asked.
“Is there any way I can get my hands on a copy of the Bible here? I need to do some reading before I make my decision.”
“I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t make any promises,” he said after a moment of contemplation. “In the meantime, I’d like to hear the rest of your story.”
For the next ten minutes, I told Augustus about my journey as a Christian. My mentor had taught me to keep my testimony to about four minutes or less, but I had the nagging feeling that I should give a more elaborate account of my spiritual transformation. I recounted how I found my way to Emblem Church shortly after the incident at the bar, heard the gospel clearly explained for the first time, and accepted it on the spot. A volunteer at the church told me that my sin had separated me from God and that only a belief in the death and resurrection of his Son, Jesus Christ, could give me the forgiveness I needed and put me into a right relationship with God. His grace was something that I could never earn, which was why he’d given it to me as a gift.
I also talked about how I joined a community group of six single women close to my age after a few months and decided to get serious about my faith by studying the Bible with them. Half of the girls were also new believers and half were more mature in their faiths, which always made for memorable discussions. Through studying scripture with them and exchanging daily encouragement, I gained a deeper understanding of God’s love and finally found healing from the wounds of my past.
As I told my story of salvation, a bittersweet nostalgia came over me. I loved and admired the women and men who I’d befriended at Emblem, but I would likely never see any of them again. Whether I chose freedom o
r servitude, my old life was over. I would be starting over again … I would be alone.
Once I finished my testimony, Augustus, who had been listening to the entire tale in rapt silence, rose from the bench.
“Thank you for sharing that with me,” he said. “I’ll see if I can find a copy of the Bible for you.”
“Thanks.”
When Augustus wordlessly left the room, I couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. Most people usually asked questions, gave encouragement, or invalidated my experiences when I shared my testimony, and I’d more or less learned how to respond to each reaction. No one had ever simply walked away without a single comment. While it was a bit unsettling, I reminded myself that his reaction was the least of my concerns considering the matter of the slaves and the prophecy. With that in mind, I said a silent prayer to God, asking him to point me to the scripture I needed to make the right decision about the prophecy and to continue whatever work he was doing in Augustus’ heart.
♦ ♦ ♦
About an hour later, a knock at the door interrupted me as I flipped through an old edition of an American newspaper that I’d found in my room.
“Come in.”
I expected Augustus to step into the room with a copy of the Bible or the sad news that he couldn’t find one, but Emmanuel entered instead. My guard went up immediately and I got to my feet. I didn’t want the coven leader to trap me in a vulnerable position if he decided to display his feral side as he had the previous night. After a quick glance around the room, I determined that the bathroom door would be my best option for escape if I needed to flee.
I hope that this isn’t the kind of visit I’ll need to escape from.
“Hello, Clara.”
“Hello.”
“Did you enjoy dinner?”
“The food was great. Your cook is very talented.”
While the soup, entrée, and dessert had been amazing, the company and the context prevented me from finding the overall experience truly enjoyable.
“I’m glad you liked it,” he said with a smile. “Tonight’s entertainment will begin downstairs shortly. I’d like you to join us.”
Emmanuel made the invitation a statement instead of a question, which I took as a sign that my attendance was required and not optional. I wasn’t thrilled about spending the night hanging out with the coven leader and his fiendish friends, but I didn’t have a choice.
“What about Augustus?”
Even though I hadn’t hung my hat on Augustus just yet, I definitely felt safer in his presence than I did around the other vampires.
“I’ll make sure he knows where we are,” Emmanuel assured me as we stepped into the hallway. “What kind of diversions do you enjoy?”
The personal and innocent nature of his question caught me off guard, but I recovered in a few seconds.
“Reading, watching movies, and listening to music.”
“What genres of music?”
“I mostly listen to rock and country. I’ll turn on some light jazz or classical music every now and then when I need to relax or concentrate.”
“Well, considering how tense you are now, I think you’ll appreciate what I have in store for tonight.”
“Is one of the slaves performing?”
“No, I flew in a performer from across the pond. I rarely hire outside entertainment, so you’re lucky I brought you in when I did.”
Yeah … I’m really lucky.
“Aren’t you scared that he’ll tell the authorities about you?”
“He’s been compelled not to,” Emmanuel explained. “One of my men picked him up from Haiti at dusk. When he boards his plane to return to Italy after his performance, he will believe that he gave a private performance to a room full of wealthy tourists at a resort.”
“Are you going to hurt him?”
“I may take a drink from him before he leaves to spice things up, but he will remain otherwise unharmed.”
“Why are you letting him go? What makes him more important than the other humans here?”
“Nothing,” Emmanuel answered. “He would simply lose his novelty if he entertained me night after night, and that would be incredibly tragic. Besides, his voice would lose its beauty over time whether I grew tired of it or not. I’ve learned over the years that servitude tends to hamper creativity.”
That’s not all it does, I thought as I clenched my jaw and fought to hold my tongue.
Seconds later, he led me into the large parlor that I’d passed with Augustus on my way to dinner. Lisette, Danielle, two male vampires, and their personal slaves lounged and stood around the room conversing and drinking various alcoholic drinks under the three-tiered crystal chandelier’s warm glow. When I looked at the stage and saw the entertainer Emmanuel had flown in for the night, my bitter disdain gave way to wide-eyed shock and reluctant excitement.
Two cherry wood steps above the lush cream-colored carpet, a blonde woman wearing a black silk gown sat at the grand piano while a corpulent, tuxedo-clad man in his fifties stood center stage. His lightly gelled black hair was slicked away from his face, revealing the crisscrossing of wrinkles that time had etched into his forehead. The man’s thick, dark beard and eyebrows were perfectly trimmed and manicured just enough to him seem refined but not enough to give him an effeminate look. Even if the performer hadn’t been overweight, he still would have filled the stage with his commanding, authoritative presence, which only a handful of fortunate souls had ever been able to appreciate in such an intimate setting.
The coven leader had somehow managed to fly in Lazzaro Palladino, one of the most famous operatic tenors in the world. I didn’t know much about opera, but I instantly recognized the Italian legend. I’d seen Lazzaro perform at the Winter Olympics in 2006 from my dorm room and watched him in a televised performance of the opera Madama Butterfly one lonely, ice cream-filled night after my last fight with David. He was a household name and the soundtrack to my last and greatest heartbreak.
Emmanuel sat down on the cream-colored, brocade couch opposite the small stage and pulled me down beside him. When I tried to put some distance between the two of us, Augustus sat on my right, so I couldn’t move more than a few inches. I wanted to ask if he’d had any luck finding a copy of the Bible, but the Italian tenor and his accompanist began their performance before I could say a word.
Instead of debating whether I should even allow myself to enjoy the intimate concert, I dropped my guard, lost myself in the richness of his voice, and closed my eyes as I mentally escaped from my strange, disturbing surroundings. No one in the room uttered a word as Lazzaro filled the room with sweet, operatic melodies, but the sound of a soft sigh pulled my attention from the Italian singer halfway through his first song. I opened my eyes and looked to my right, where I saw Danielle biting Patrick’s neck as they sat on the nearby chaise. Patrick’s eyes were just as unsettlingly vacant as they had been at dinner and his hands stayed flat on his thighs, not flinching in the slightest as Danielle drank from him.
One by one, the vampires began to feed from their slaves with shocking boldness. In an effort to avoid the nauseating sight, I turned my attention back to Lazzaro. The tenor was completely unaffected by the vampires’ feeding as his coffee-hued eyes scanned the room, and that only made the scene more distressing.
He doesn’t even see what’s happening, I realized as my breathing accelerated to the point of near hyperventilation.
Even over my quiet gasping, I could hear the sighs, slurps, and snickers of the vampires around me during their brazen feeding. My pulse quickened and the erratic booming grew so loud that it nearly drowned out the vampires’ drinking. That sickening soundtrack, the slaves’ silent submission, and Lazzaro’s superb singing combined to create a sinister symphony of sounds and sights that I desperately needed to get away from.
Without warning, I stood up and ran from the room as quickly as my feet could take me. Unfortunately, Emmanuel caught up with me and grabbed my arm just as I reache
d the stairs.
“Please let me go,” I gasped.
“You are one of us whether you choose to accept it or not,” he interrupted. “Your thirst for blood just hasn’t been awakened yet, but when it is—”
“I could never do that to someone,” I interrupted.
“Emmanuel,” Augustus barked as he strolled into the foyer.
Despite his superior’s noticeable irritation, the coven leader held fast to my quaking arm, my skin crawling and my stomach churning more with every second that passed.
“You have been living in your indulgent bubble for far too long. Letting your coven feed so shamelessly in the presence of someone who recoiled at the mere sight of fangs last night was incredibly foolish,” he smoothly admonished. “I will take Clara to her room and try to undo the damage you have done, but don’t be surprised if she chooses chains over fangs when her time comes in two nights.”
Rather than responding verbally, Emmanuel simply let go of my arm and bowed low to Augustus while I continued my escape upstairs with the redheaded vampire behind me. When we reached the room, Augustus used his key, opened the door, and locked it behind us. I think he might have said something or called my name, but I was too busy running into the bathroom and throwing up in the toilet to respond. I was suddenly thankful that I hadn’t eaten more at dinner because I would have been hugging the porcelain throne a lot longer if I’d gorged myself on the gourmet food.
I sat with my back against the garden tub and rested my head on my knees as I tried to steady my ragged breathing and fought to ignore the bitter aftertaste of vomit. Seconds later, the sound of running water reached my ears and I felt Augustus sit beside me on the cool tile.
“Drink this,” he urged gently.
I lifted my head and he offered me a glass of water, which I eagerly gulped down, keeping my eyes on the cabinets in front of me to avoid eye contact. Although Augustus hadn’t opened anyone’s veins during Emmanuel’s bloody bacchanalia, witnessing the feeding frenzy reminded me that he preyed on humans and drank blood like the others did. He was just a seemingly nicer, more discreet monster than they were.
