Slay: Stories of the Vampire Noire

by Slay (epub)

  "Well, way to be dramatic Mom," Neeka said with a laugh, the other two girls joining in. They became quiet again pretty quickly when they realized their mothers were stone-faced in front of them.

  "This is not a joke," Zina's mother said, using what they called her "professor's" voice. Many a university student had been given a lot to think about with it. Her long hennaed locs fell in front of her face. "Not at all."

  Laila's mother then got up and came back with what looked like a vintage silver tray with carved crystal glasses on it. She set it down in the middle of the table and took one of the glasses herself, the other mothers following suit. "Go on," Neeka's mother said, pushing the tray closer to them.

  "Oh wow," Zina said. "What's this about? Are you really letting us join your wine group?"

  Once again, the mothers said nothing, their faces a mask. Each girl took a sip. They all looked up almost in unison and then at each other, confused.

  Laila looked down at hers. "I...I don't think this is wine. Mom?"

  "You're right, honey. It is not."

  "I feel kind of funny. Mama, what is going on?" Zina said.

  Neeka felt warm inside, like her very veins were on fire. It was as if she was burning inside. She could swear that she could hear the heartbeats of everyone in the room. No, she was certain that she could hear every heartbeat at that table. Loudly. She looked across from her and her mother was watching. "Can you hear it too?" Neeka asked Laila and Zina.

  "I think I can hear...everything," Laila said. "Everything. Something is wrong. Why can I hear everything?"

  "This isn't right," Zina said. "Ohh, this is not right."

  "Yes, it is. Zina take off your glasses. You won't need them anymore," Zina's mother said as she reached out her hand for them. She did as she was told and had a shocked look.

  "I have always worn glasses. Since I was little. What is this?" Zina reached her hand towards her mouth and opened it, touching fangs that had suddenly appeared. Laila saw her and screamed, her hands flying up to touch her own.

  "What...what is happening to us?!" Neeka said, doing the same after seeing Zina's reaction. She started to panic.

  "On a full moon of your twelfth year, we have to initiate you. It is as we have done. As our mothers and their mothers and their mothers did before them. We must share that generational knowledge with you. Tonight is that initiation."

  "Blood for blood," all three mothers calmly said in unison, holding up and then taking long sips from their own glasses. "May the next generation be wiser than the one before and before."

  "What is this? Some kind of cult? Or a sick joke, because this is sick! I do not want to be a part of this so you can count me out," Zina said as Laila started to cry.

  "This is not. It is who you are. It is in your very DNA. You would not be able to help it and that can be dangerous," Neeka's mother explained.

  "For who? Because this is seriously starting to feel a little child protective services right now, I'm just saying," Neeka said.

  "You are a part of a long line of vampires. It only triggers for about a week once a month starting with the full moon. We're not like the Weres. You are not going to undergo a physical transformation beyond your fangs, and even those can be controlled. Heightened senses, heightened strength, and also...a need for blood." All three girls' lips curled up and they looked down at their glasses.

  "So, wait a minute," Laila said. "When you three were getting together for wine every month, that wasn't wine. It was..."

  "Blood, yes, darling" her mother said in that languid voice of hers, taking another sip and draining her glass.

  "Blood, nooo..." Neeka said in response. Laila leaned over from her chair and promptly threw up, the dark red vomit splattering against the expensive plush carpet. Zina looked ill.

  "So, what now? Are we expected to go out and bite necks now? I am not biting people," Zina said, crossing her arms.

  The mothers looked at one another.

  "Oh God, no. That's what familiars are for. We have a network of healthy donor familiars. As long as you have a glass a day, you'll be fine."

  "If not?" Zina demanded.

  "Then your body can't function, pure and simple."

  Laila started crying harder. "I'm a freeeak..."

  "No, honey, just a vampire," Laila's mother said, reaching across and patting her hand.

  Neeka's mother looked at each one of them. "These girls are now your Cohort. You will always be there for one another. They are your confidantes. The ones you should always be able to trust, even with your lives. Your own daughters, if you have them, will be like this as well as it passes without a doubt through one's maternal line."

  "But really though. Can we control this? Cuz, I don't want to be biting people," Zina said. "Wait, can we turn other folks? Like in the movies?"

  "No, this is genetic. You have to be born like this," Neeka's mother responded. "Trust me, there's a reason I became a scientist, and this is one thing I definitely know."

  "OK then," Zina continued. "Soo...are we immortal?"

  All three mothers started laughing. "No, while you will live longer than most, you are not immortal. You can be killed, and you can die. I swear you girls have been watching and reading myths."

  "Well, it's not every day that myths become real, you know? Wait, did you say ‘Weres’ earlier?!" Neeka said, still struggling with the burning sensation inside that was now feeling like flowing ice water everywhere in her body. She just felt ill. The mothers shrugged.

  Laila reached over and squeezed Neeka’s hand. "I don't want to be a vampire!" Laila said, wailing. She seemed inconsolable. Neeka sat there quietly for a few moments before standing up. "I want to go home now. This just can't be happening. I want to go home."

  The mothers sighed one by one. "Your grandmothers warned us that this might happen."

  "Wait, Grandma is one?" Neeka asked.

  "Yes, and your sister too."

  Neeka sat back down and like the other two girls, was quiet. She hugged Laila, who wouldn't stop crying. Zina put her head in her arms on the table. Neeka just couldn't process everything that she was told tonight and what her future would be. A vampire? Just who in the world finds out of the blue that they are a vampire? Oh wait...

  Her.

  The ride back home was quiet and as awkward as it could be after finding out something like that. Laila was still wailing as they walked out of the door. Neeka kept looking over at her mother and finally asked "Have you ever fed on someone?" Her mother looked over at her.

  "Well?"

  Her mother turned back to the road. "Yes."

  "Why? I thought you said you didn't do that?"

  "Sometimes you are in situations where you don't have access to familiars or blood reserves." Neeka noticed her mother's grip on the steering wheel got a lot tighter. "And when you are really hungry, well..."

  Neeka was horrified.

  "I’m sorry I asked now. I'd rather not think about it, if you don't mind." She started to wring her hands. Her mother’s face softened.

  "Baby, you have to, and we will. I know that it is a lot to ask, but this will be as normal to you as breathing. You are not always going to be comfortable. There will be moments that you hate it, but it is part of who you are as a woman. You will come to see it, as we all have, as something that makes you truly special as one.” She reached over and squeezed Neeka’s arm gently. “You are part of a very long line with a history that I will continue to share with you and want you to be proud of. I just want you to feel empowered and unafraid as you go forward in the world now. Know that I love you. We all do."

  They pulled up in front of the house. Her older sister Cynthia was home from college. She was standing in the doorway waiting, waving to them excitedly.

  As they walked in, she took Neeka's hand before hugging them both. She looked at their mom and then smiled at Neeka before hugging her tightly.

  "Welcome to the Sisterhood."

  Diary of a Mad Black Vampire<
br />
  Dicey Grenor

  ASHANTI’S DIARY

  March 1

  Dear Diary,

  Tonight, I killed a dog, though I’m not sure why. I don’t like the taste of dog blood much, having tried it on more than one occasion before. A few times during a few different eras with several different breeds, just to make sure, and nope. I never acquired the taste. But when you’ve lived long as I have, done the things I’ve done, traveled the places I’ve traveled, met the people I’ve met... you just get bored. And, well… the furry creature was there barking in its yard, interrupting as I stared through the picture window at the beautiful albino girl playing the piano melody.

  I hadn’t intended to kill her pet. I could have hidden in the nearby woods when they let the dog out to do its business in the grass. Instead, on a whim, I moved fast as lightning, bit a chunk out of its neck, and drank its blood before the poor animal knew what had happened. With the cover of darkness and no one around to see my misdeed, the family would think a wild animal had devoured it. Well, not so much devoured. To be honest, I only drank enough to remember how much I didn’t like the canine taste and let the rest spill all over the ground and my black velvet cloak. I guess I killed it just because I could.

  It could have been worse. If I had spared the dog and waited a few moments more, it may have been the piano girl’s life I had taken in my fit of boredom when she came out looking for the dog. I’m guessing the girl’s parents and friends would have taken her death harder. Though I’ve never cared about my victims’ feelings or the upset of their families, it is somewhat necessary for my own survival to keep a low profile. Surviving happens to be the only thing I’ve cared about for quite some time, and a dead dog doesn’t typically draw as much attention as a dead girl.

  I’ve only just arrived in this city, so who knows… Perhaps her music won’t be so melodious nor her skin so beautiful to me tomorrow, and I will kill her anyway just for sport. I’m willing to bet her blood would taste infinitely better than her doggie’s. For now, I will rest in the shadows of her shed and reemerge at nightfall.

  Forever in Death,

  A.

  ASHANTI’S DIARY

  March 2

  Dear Diary,

  When I awakened tonight, the girl was in her yard poking her dog’s carcass with a long stick. I was surprised by this, as I was sure she would have buried it during the day and been mourning its loss by now. I thought perhaps I needed to get closer to appreciate her tears. How wrong I was.

  When I moved swiftly from the shed to behind a tree only a few feet away from her, I saw her stone, toneless face and dry eyes. Not only did she not show sadness over her dog’s death, she seemed incapable of feeling it. Or feeling anything, for that matter. After witnessing a dozen human reactions to the carnage I’ve left behind in the past, I knew this wasn’t shock or anything normal.

  The girl barely budged when the wind from my movement rustled her clothing, though it was not because my presence had gone unnoticed. She had called out to me, asking me to show myself. I thought for a moment about showing my fangs and sending her soul to her creator but decided to step forward out of curiosity. Perhaps she was soulless like me.

  To my surprise, and for the first time in a long while, I stood before someone in all my dark, deathly glory, and that someone did not shrink away in fear. She had only asked me two things— “Did you kill my dog?” and “Are you going to kill me?” I answered her first question affirmatively and told her I was undecided about her second.

  By a strange turn of events, she thanked me for my honesty and told me to bury her dog since I had killed it. I thought about telling her I took orders from no one, but then she mentioned the rapid pace in which I moved, and how something that would take her hours to do would only take me thirty seconds. That seemed fair. Still, I hesitated and promised I would bury it only if she told me her name.

  Tetra. The emotionless piano girl with melanin-free skin and eyes as red as mine was named Tetra. She dared a curtsy as she said it, although my instincts told me it was meant as sarcasm in lieu of respect. I couldn’t help but smile. Something I hadn’t done in many decades.

  Since I’m a creature of my word, I found a shovel in her shed, buried her dog, and decided not to kill the girl tonight either. She intrigues me. She makes me smile. Plays melodious music. Challenges me, already, when signs indicate I am a danger to her. She also asked me to meet her at the same time, same place tomorrow tonight. She said we’d go horseback riding, if I promised not to kill her horses, and she would play the piano for me, if I promised to watch her through the picture window again. She had enjoyed the eeriness of being watched, a sign that she enjoys a little danger.

  It’s been quite some time since I’ve ridden a horse. I have fond memories of doing so and look forward to doing it again. Especially with Tetra.

  I am now giddy with excitement as I lie to rest in her shed for the second day. I’m usually void of excitement, and for my own safety, I usually only spend one day in the same location. Tetra may be what I’ve been looking for all along without knowing I’ve been looking.

  Forever in Death,

  A.

  ASHANTI’S DIARY

  March 3

  Dear Diary,

  Tonight was amazing.

  Yes, I realize the word “amazing” is overused in these modern times and my vocabulary is usually more imaginative than this, but I have no better description for how I’m feeling nor a better way to summarize the events that transpired when Tetra and I rendezvoused tonight.

  First, she played one of my favorite classical piano pieces as the sun set and she knew I’d be approaching her window and watching. Next, we rode horses like two escaped convicts sentenced to life in maximum security prison. We could not be contained or tamed as wind blew through our hair. Hers, coarse as mine but as colorless as her skin and much shorter. Mine, bound in rows of tight knots, unraveling one at a time as I bounced on the beast and screamed with joy to the Heavens.

  After riding, we stretched out on a blanket under the stars and talked about whatever came to our minds— old lovers, favorite foods, our disdain for humankind, our lack of real plans for the future. Tetra seemed interested in knowing about my species and unafraid of the consequences of having such knowledge, so I opened up about my vampirism. I told her what it was like surviving off the blood of the living, avoiding the sun, and having superhuman strength and speed. She told me what it was like looking different from everyone else, including her parents, and how she too, avoided the sun and most people because they mistreated her.

  It turns out that even though we are different species, we have loads more in common than we have different. She writes in a daily diary, same as me. She’s twenty years old, the same age I was at the time of my turning. We were both institutionalized as teens for a short stint over mental health conditions that resulted in psychotic breaks. We’re both much better now, vowing never to be confined like that again.

  We also have chronic boredom in common… until we met each other, and quite honestly, I see that as destiny. I spent the night learning so much about Tetra, and she about me, that I didn’t feel my usual boredom at all.

  Tetra may be the ying to my yang. The sunrise to my sunset. The ivory to my ebony.

  We discussed my worldly travels also. Tetra’s wide-eyed schoolgirl interest in it all ignited a spark in me, making me want to whisk her away from this dull life and let her see the world. Experience it the way it should be experienced, with means and without fear. It would be exciting for me to travel again, if I took her with me and saw things for the first time through her eyes. Since she hadn’t gone much further than the home she’d grown up in, on account of having elderly parents, I almost owed it to her. As if I had come into her life for this purpose. At this moment. Hers, mine… our destiny.

  So, I shared the travel stories I could remember— from Africa, to Asia, to Europe, to Australia, to North America, to here in Canada— with the c
aveat that I was much older than her parents, and my best experiences had come and gone long ago in years and memory, and that nothing beats seeing it all firsthand.

  Lastly, after all that talking and sharing, we went to her neighbor’s house to prank them. It was a terrible thing to do, and I would have otherwise thought it beyond my breadth of sophistication to do such a thing. I must say, their screams as I ran through their house opening all the closet and cabinet doors, flickering all the lights and turning on all the faucets was worth lowering myself to that level of basic thrill. Tetra’s laughter as she waited outside was as melodious to my ears as her piano music.

  There was barely enough time to spare before the sun rose and I had to flee and return to Tetra’s shed for cover. I’d do it all over again to hear Tetra’s maniacal laughter as she went indoors for the day.

  I suppose her penchant for sadism is another commonality I had not thought of until just now. Which makes me wonder if she could be my companion. Perhaps, we could prank and terrorize Antarctica together. After that, I could take her to my homeland, the region now known as Nigeria, for a short visit. We just couldn’t stay long given its warm, sunny climate.

  I’ll think further on it when I awake in the evening.

  Forever in Death,

  A.

  ASHANTI’S DIARY

  March 9

  Dear Diary,

  Apologies for my neglect. I have been having the best time since my death many moons ago. I’m remembering the thrill of what it was like when I first turned, re-experiencing the thrill of the unknown. Waking up ready to see what each new night has in store for me. It’s reminiscent of when I was young, carefree, excited, and powerful, with the whole world in front of me. A reminder that I may not be young anymore, but I’m still powerful. Thanks to Tetra, I’m also carefree and excited again.