by Shadow Soft
Oh, yes. I’d forgotten about that. Vampires could track humans by the scent of their blood. With me the pull was doubly strong. Idiot! Every vampire in the village knows I’m here already. They’re probably all congregating in their little log cabins planning how to abduct me.
“Don’t be afraid,” Grandmother Rose said quietly, as if she could read my very thoughts. “No one here is going to harm you, Valx. Symbiosia is home to only the best. We’re not like . . . .” She trailed off with a grimace. “You know. The rest of them.”
I will decide that for myself, I thought wryly. Any vampire would say they didn’t mean me any harm, until they jumped me from behind.
“Two hundred and fifty years ago,” Grandmother Rose went on in her weathered old voice, “there was someone just like you.” She pointed with a bony finger, smiling slightly. “He spent all his young life running. See, unlike you, no one discovered his powers right away. With you it was the minute you were born. With him it took years. So he was luckier than you, I suppose. He found out about who he was before anyone else did. At first he went in to the scientists and let them examine him. He wanted to know how it worked, you see—how he healed automatically. The scientists couldn’t figure it out, and sent him home. Then they talked amongst themselves, and called him, requesting another visit. But this boy—Michael was his name—was too smart.”
A cunning smile quirked Rose’s mouth, and she tapped her forehead knowingly. “He realized what his powers meant, and realized that he would become the scientists’ slave if he ever went back to them again. So he ran. For years he ran. He hopped across the world, from one place to the next, working where he could and scavenging where he couldn’t. The scientists chased him, but he stayed always one step ahead. They were unorganized, see. As soon as he entered a new country, that government claimed jurisdiction over him. Scientists working for other governments tried to give chase, but weren’t allowed entry. Political squabbles ensued.
“Because of this, Michael managed to escape for seven years. Always running, he stayed one step ahead of his pursuers. But eventually the scientific community resolved their disputes and formed SCHNUET—you’re familiar with them. After that Michael was more hard pressed than ever. No matter which country he fled to, he was confronted by SCHNUET trackers.”
The fire snapped behind me, almost making me jump. Rose’s voice dropped into low tones of melancholy. “Michael was good,” she said, “but no one can be perfect forever. It was inevitable that he would slip, that SCHNUET would catch him. It was inevitable that he would make a mistake.” She ran the fringe of her quilt through bony fingers. Deep in the shadowed sockets of her eyes, grief and regret glistened. “Michael knew this,” she said in a whisper. “Michael knew he would make a mistake sooner or later. If he kept running, they would catch him. And so. He went into hiding. He had never done this before. See, Michael had always been good at running. But he was terrible at laying low. Now, though, he knew it was his only choice.
“So he found a underground gang who took him in. They were robbers and theives—not reputable company, by any means, but they promised to keep him safe. Michael trusted them, because they were hiding, too. They couldn’t possibly turn him in without being busted themselves.”
Sorrow pierced Rose’s voice, and her shoulders sagged. For the first time since meeting her it struck me how old she was. Sixties? No—older, I thought. When her smile faded, when a lifetime of hardship surfaced in her eyes, when memories of a darker past crept up through the facade of happiness and contentment . . . . I shuddered. It was frightening.
“This,” Rose said quietly, “was Michael’s mistake. In trying to prevent a mistake, he caused it. His fear of failure was a self-fulfilling prophesy, you see. If he had kept running he would have escaped longer—perhaps even forever. How can we know? For he was too afraid of making a mistake that, in order to avoid it, he did just that: he made a mistake. He went into hiding, seeking refuge amongst theives.” Rose’s eyes glittered. “Amongst vampires. They were vampires, all of them, the gang he turned to for safekeeping.”
She took a long, deep breath and tilted her head back against the rocker, eyes closed. “You can imagine what happened next, Valx. You, of all people can imagine. These vampires had no sense of virtue, no sense of respect. They were not like the vampires here in Symbiosia. Of course they knew who Michael was. Or rather—they might not have known who he was, or why he was, or any of the science behind it—but their instincts told them the truth. His blood was full of glory and power. Almost divine. And so. They tortured him, for his blood.”
Grandmother Rose’s eyes drifted open to pin me where I sat. She always seemed to do that—pinning. There was never a gentle, light glance. It was always full of purpose and weight. “I suppose I can end the story there, for your sake. No need to expound upon the rest of Michael’s life. He committed himself unwittingly into the hands of his worst enemies—yes, worse even than the scientists, these vampires were—and instead of keeping him safe, they tortured him. For the rest of his life.”
Grandmother Rose was still staring at me, so I looked away, lips compressed into a thin, grim line. “Are you trying to scare me?”
“No.” She leaned forward. “I’m trying to warn you.”
“Thanks,” I said drily. “I wasn’t aware of any danger before this.”
Grandmother Rose gave me an amused look. “I don’t think you’re stupid, Valx. Of course you know the danger you’re in. You’ve known your whole life. But I’m trying to make you understand how dangerous the vampires are.”
“Vampires like yourself, you mean?”
Chuckling, Rose settled back in her rocking chair and winked at Vales. “He’s a cheeky one, isn’t he?”
“When he’s offended,” Vales muttered.
I glared at her. “When I’m being treated like a child,” I corrected.
Rose’s eyes widened marginally. “Ah—forgive me. I thought you were thirteen?”
My glower switched from Vales to her. “I am,” I said tightly. “But I’m smart.”
“I know.” Rose was still smiling. “Just not quite smart enough.” Before I could interrupt her, she held up a hand and went on. “It has come to my attention, dearest Valx, that you harbor a deathly fear of SCHNUET. Is this correct?”
“Of course.”
“It has also come to my attention that your fear of LFX does not match your fear of SCHNUET. Is this correct?”
My eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Honestly . . . . yes. SCHNUET made me a prisoner for the first ten years of my life. I lived in lab rooms—basically cells, with no exposure to the outside world. White-washed walls, steel doors, bright white lights. They tortured me in the name of science. It’s natural to hate and fear them more than LFX, who haven’t done anything at all to me.”
“Ah, yes. I understand.” Rose gave me a reprimanding look. “This is where you are wrong, Valx. Hate SCHNUET more—that’s fine. But fear them both the same. For were LFX to catch you, you would be no better off in their hands than in the hands of SCHNUET. They would torture you as much as you were tortured before—probably even more cruelly. For the scientists are blinded to humanity by their passion for discovery and advancement, but their need is not an internal hunger, as is the vampires’. Wisdom, Valx, is in fearing both equally.”
Shivering, I edged closer to the fire. “Thanks,” I said sarcastically. “That’s comforting.”
Rose laughed. It was a genuine laugh filled with genuine amusement. “I’m not trying to be comforting, Valx. I’m trying to be honest.”
Looking back, I think that was the moment I really began to like Grandmother Rose. Really and truly. The moment I decided that, despite her rough sides—and she did have them, a tongue at times coarse as sandpaper and a wit doubly dry—despite her rough sides, I liked her. She was honest, and honesty is . . . . well, rather rare these days. People smile to your face and rant lies inside. They tell you what you want to hear instead of what you need t
o hear. It’s all rubbish. The whole lot of it. When did humanity stop caring for truth? When did we stop telling things as they are, and start adapting them to what everyone else wants to hear?
This is why I liked Grandmother Rose. She told the truth. Even when it hurt. And nobody likes pain—least of all me, for I know it well—but sometimes pain is necessary to spur us to do what must be done.
Chapter 7
It was misty the next morning. Not the sort of mist you’re used to—the type that burns away by the time you’ve had mid-morning tea. No, this was the heavy sort of mist that makes you feel like you crept into some haunted place while you were sleeping, and woken amongst ancient barrows. Depending on your mindset, it either sends chills down your arms or kindles that holiday warmth in your chest, evoking fond memories of Christmases spent curled in front of a blazing fire with a mug of hot chocolate curled against your chest.
Needless to say, my mindset was the former. There are few things more frightening than waking in the morning to the remembrance that you’re surrounded by dozens of your worst nightmares. Vampires. Groaning, I rolled over and pulled the covers up over my ears. It’s a silly thing, really, but it is. When I’m afraid, pulling the covers over my head helps. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. It’s a remnant of wide-eyed childhood, when there are monsters under the bed and bears snuffling around outside your window. It’s something primeval, an instinct leftover from infancy.
I may have been thirteen, but give me some grace. If you had led my life you would have been wont to indulge in the occasional fantasy too. Pulling the covers over my head made me feel safer. Even if it was all a lie, let it comfort me. With my life, I needed comfort wherever I could find it.
Vampires. The mist drifting by outside my window didn’t kindle any fond recollections. This was not a cozy winter fog that promised snowflakes on Christmas. This was the graveyard sort of fog. At least to me it was.
After an anxious half hour I finally summoned the courage to slip out of bed and tug on my boots. I lifted my jacket off the hook on the back of my door, trying to be as quiet as possible. I had no clue what time it was and no clue if anyone else was awake. If they were, I didn’t want to wake them. True, Vales could comfort me. But my feelings about her were mixed right now, and mixed feelings are exhausting, so I tried to stay as far away from them as possible.
I tip-toed down the stairs, shrugging into my jacket and belting my pants as I went. At the bottom I paused and peeked into the living room. The fire was a bed of simmering coals, but with the drapes drawn the room was otherwise dark. No one else seemed to be awake yet. The back door, I decided, crossing the few feet of tile to the shadowed alcove where the door nestled. I tried the handle but it didn’t budge. I flipped the deadbolt, first one way then the other, with no success. It was the handle that was locked, not the deadbolt.
Someone has a key . . . . The thought was barely out of my head before I heard a rustle of movement behind me. Although it wasn’t a rustle, really—or movement at all, for that matter. I simply became aware of a presence behind me. Perhaps there was no sound at all. But my sixth sense warned me of sudden company, and I whirled, heart pounding.
“If you’re looking for the key,” Grandmother Rose said, “it’s on the mantle.”
I put a hand unconsciously to my chest, trying not to gasp in surprise. My heart was still racing. Peering closer, I saw the near-invisible form of Grandmother Rose sunk into an easy chair on the far side of the living room. In the gray light pressing through the drapes, her hoary-haired head and the motionless gauntness of her physique were barely visible.
“Grandmother Rose––” I swallowed, trying to stifle my momentary alarm.
She smiled faintly. Across the living room, it was but a shadow wreathed in dimness. “It’s always on the mantle,” she said. “You may come and go as you please.”
My eyes flickered to the mantle, picking out the form of the key. “Thank you,” I mumbled, shuffling to it. I paused in front of the fireplace, touched fleetingly by its warmth. “You startled me,” I said.
Grandmother Rose shifted in the gloom, and I heard something of a sigh. “I’ve seen the look in your eyes before,” she murmured. “Always ready to run. From yourself as much as from anything else. Your nightmares become your fears, your fears become your hunters.” She tilted her head back, and the faint light gleamed across something that lay across her clavicle—a necklace of some sort. I couldn’t make out what the pendant was.
“Fear keeps me alive,” I said, a touch defensively. “You would fear, too.”
Grandmother Rose sighed. “I’m sure I would, child. I’m sure I would.” She tucked her quilt in around her legs. “Rest easy, now, Valx. You’re in Symbiosia.”
When I stepped outside the cold stole over me like water, like deep water that I had plunged into unknowingly. I shivered and pulled the door shut behind me, pocketing the key. I wasn’t exactly sure what I intended to do outside, but I knew it was where I was supposed to be. I had a mission in Symbiosia. The Nightfalls had brought me here to keep me safe, but I couldn’t be safe. I couldn’t let myself feel safe. Before I rested easy, I needed to evaluate this place for myself.
I went to the research center first. It was the last place I wanted to be, but the first place I needed to see. I made a full circle around it amidst the fog of early morning. There was no one else out and about, which was somewhat assuring. Either it meant all the vampires were still snuggled in their beds, dreaming happily of drinking my blood, or they were laying in wait around the next corner. If the first, I was momentarily safe. If the second . . . . well, I wouldn’t have to worry about chafing fear any longer. I would have almost preferred to be in their hands already than suffering the perpetual insufferable terror of wondering when the moment would come.
Then there was the third possibility: that the vampires of Symbiosia were truly dedicated to my preservation and happiness, in which case . . . . I chuckled esoterically. In which case the world was a wildly more generous place than I had ever dared hope for.
After making two circles of the research center and trying every door—they were all locked—I ventured toward the center of town. Victor could always take me into the research center later. Or I can ask him for the key and go alone. The thought of going into any place that remotely resembled the labs I had grown up in, in the company of a scientist—a vampire scientist, to make it even worse—was less than appealing.
Symbiosia’s main road was nothing more than a broad dirt track leading between small rustic houses. I followed it with clandestine unease, eyeing the buildings on both sides as if . . . . well, as if vampires lived within. Which they did. The snow crunched under my boots, a hollow, lonely sound in the close-shut silence. It’s like a ghost town, I thought nervously. No life. No noise. I walked a few more paces, chills creeping up and down my spine. The cold was worming its way through my jacket and I regretted not grabbing gloves and a scarf before leaving Grandmother Rose’s cottage. True, it is still early in the morning. How early? I couldn’t tell. With the fog as heavy as it was, the sun could have been blazing high in the sky and I would never have known.
At the grocery store I stopped, gazing at the modest sign: Grocery Store. The simplicity and obviousness of it almost made me laugh out loud. In fact, I had just begun to chuckle when I heard footsteps behind me. I spun, eyes darting through the fog. A figure emerged, hunched over in cold, hands in pockets, head down.
Slip away? I thought, eyeing the corner of the building. He wasn’t looking at me. He might not notice . . . .
The bundled figure glanced up, and hopes of escaping unnoticed vanished from my brain. “Good morning,” I said, as it was the only reasonable thing that came to mind. I was fairly convinced saying ‘Get away from me’ or ‘Don’t touch me’ wouldn’t have been a very amenable greeting.
“Good morning!” She—for it was, in fact, a woman—flipped back her hood and smiled warmly as she passed me and stopped in f
ront of the grocery store’s locked front doors. “How are you this morning?”
It was such a typical greeting I almost didn’t know how to respond. “Fine,” I blinked. “How are you?”
“Good grief, awful!” She was still smiling as she said it, drawing a jangling chain from her pocket and picking through the keys that dangled from it. “The raccoon in my attic had babies—six of them! I was about to shoo her out, but now how can I? I’d hate to be the jerk who banishes a new mother and her six newborns out into this cold!” Appearing to find the right key, she fitted it into the lock, turned, and pushed the door inward. “Ah! There we go! Are you coming in?”
The woman disappeared into the store and I, not knowing anything better to do—and being, honestly, rather cold—followed. A bell above the door jingled when I walked in.
“I mean,” the woman bantered on, tossing the keys on the counter and stripping off her gloves, “I know I would hate to give birth to sextuplets and next thing be booted out into merciless Swiss Alps cold.” She plucked a candy cane from a tin on the end of the counter, peeled off the wrapper, and stuck it in her mouth.
For the first time she paused long enough to glance at me where I stood uncertainly on the mat just inside the door. I expected her to ask me my name, or tell me hers, or ask if there was anything I wanted to buy. She didn’t. Instead, she tilted her head and made a face. “Hm,” she mused, “forget about being booted out into the snow—I’d hate to give birth to sextuplets period. Anywhere, anytime. But especially here. You know they don’t even have a maternity ward at the hospital?” She thumbed over one shoulder in the direction I presumed the hospital was.
Since I hadn’t even known they had a hospital in Symbiosia, I shook my head. “I imagine they don’t expect many children to be born here,” I said. “Seeing as there’s hardly anybody here, and the environment isn’t very . . . .” I searched for a way to describe it. “Conducive to romance.”
