Year of the Vampire

by Sakurapu

  "Enough." Mandrake stood at the door Ivy knew lead to the side hall where she'd seen the woodcuts. "She wants to know why she's here, what we've done to her little friends."

  A fresh sting of tears threatened Ivy's eyesight, but she could clearly see the fangs in his mouth when he spoke. "You're . . ." She turned to Dred, who watched her closely, still grinning, fangs in full view. "You're vampires. All of you?" She stepped down into the room, turning slowly to see them. "For real?"

  Circled around her were Rimbladt, Scarlet, Berella, Rockfort, Jovan, and Dred, plus the two gypsies she'd seen at the Autumn Fest.

  "Ivy, I'd like you to meet Strasse and Stansa, our traveling relatives from the carnival circuits." Mandrake approached her with measured strides. "They're visiting."

  Strasse and Stansa, both in black capes over their usual attire, nodded to her.

  Ivy faced Mandrake. "What do you want with me?" Her lips trembled as she tried to form the words. "Why kill all my friends?"

  "That's temporary, as I stated earlier." He smiled, points of his fangs still visible. "But there is a time limit on canceling their wounds. None of us can slow time forever."

  "Why hurt them?" Her eyes dropped, unable to look at Dred, only in his direction. "We were nice to you. We welcomed you." She fought back a sniffle and looked at Mandrake. "Will you please save them?"

  "Hey, I just wanted you to stick around more," Dred said, shrugging, taking the steps quickly to stand closer to her. He jammed his hands in his jeans pockets, making the rips in his shirt buckle.

  "We all do," Evandis said, stepping in front of the statue. "That's why we've done all this. That's why we—"

  "I'm against it," Maeve said, coming down the staircase. "I told you all that."

  "You were outvoted," Branard said, emerging from the hallway to the kitchen. "We both were. This really complicates our work, as I think you all know."

  "We're not going to be here past spring, so what does it matter?" Berella said. "And personally, I don't feel either way about her." She gave Ivy a quick laugh, her shorter fangs barely showing in her crimson lips. "We could just let her go and erase this night."

  "I want her to stay," Jovan said, watching Ivy steadily. "I want to teach her to play the harp. I want to—"

  "You want her to marvel at how beautifully you play," Rimbladt said. "You're fooling none of us, Mervani."

  "I want to see her play the harp," Jovan said, ignoring him. He cast a sideways glance at Mandrake. "And some of us have found our muse again."

  "I see nothing wrong with accessing beauty," Mandrake said in defense.

  "No!" Ivy shook her head, feeling as if the yawning walls were closing her up. "I don't want to stay, to be fed on or sucked up or whatever you things do!" Her hands balled into fists at her sides. "I won't stay!"

  "To save your friends," Mandrake said, taking the few steps to halt directly before her, "would you stay then?"

  She looked far up at him, trying to stop her knees from shaking. "I don't understand. Just stay? Here? For how long?"

  "We'd take you with us when we leave." Maeve moved closer to Mandrake, and now Ivy saw the slender fangs in her mouth. She wore no cloak, only a fringed vest in navy, midnight purple, and silver. "After the class graduates in the spring, we move on, start over at another location."

  Ivy's mouth hung open. "Then it was you. In all those alumni—"

  "We generally come back in twelve years," Branard said, leaning at the staircase rail. He was still in jeans and a hoodie. "Once everyone forgets us."

  "And start over with a new class of students who are tested for the Human world," Maeve said. "See if they can fit in, conform. Behave," she said, casting a stern look at Dred. "A final exam, you could say."

  Ivy didn't look at Dred. "That's why you're in all those yearbooks," she said to Maeve. "All your names, every ten years or so, start with an M and last names with a G."

  "Those are only senior pictures." Maeve smiled, exposing more of her fangs. "It takes around two years to test-out students."

  Ivy looked to Branard. "You, too?"

  He nodded. "In Shanonton."

  "I don't want to stay." She cleared her throat. "I don't want to be a vampire. I don't want—"

  "Oh, no, dear child." Evandis quickly joined Maeve. "No, you wouldn't be a vampire, Ivy. And no one would bite you, if that's what you fear. Heavens," he said, cloak jingling as he put a hand to his brow, an emotion seizing him. "You must be frightened to death."

  "Show her the story," Dred said quietly.

  Ivy turned to him. He wore no smile, simply a calm look that she thought to be out of place.

  Mandrake whipped the side of his cape over his shoulder and offered Ivy his crooked arm. "I'll show you."

  "You've done enough," Maeve said. "Go play something."

  Mandrake's face lit, his grin widening. "Yes, you haven't heard it in full yet," he told Ivy. "I think it very fitting."

  Maeve nodded to her. "I'll show you, Ivy. Maybe it'll make sense to you. Convince you."

  Ivy followed her, eyes on Mandrake and then Evandis as she passed them. There was nothing cruel in their faces, no malice, but something. Something, she thought, hopeful. Something yearning.

  Longing.

  That was it. A long-held pain, a tempered suffering she knew firsthand when she looked at pictures of her mother. Loss. She tore her gaze from them and kept up with Maeve.

  "Maybe this will help." Maeve took them down the ballroom wall to a panel past the hearth. It appeared like any other of the panels, a large grainy panel with raised edging, but when Maeve brushed her hand down the edge, it opened.

  She went in and waved for Ivy to follow.

  Ivy stepped inside the room and realized where she was. To her left was the winding staircase, and to her right, the empty picture frames. Further down on the wall were the ten wooden panels. She put a hand to her stomach, feeling ill at the sight.

  "Don't be afraid, Ivy," Maeve said, smiling when she saw Ivy's trembling fingers on her bodice. "No one here wishes you harm."

  "Can my friends really be . . . be revived?" Ivy watched the older girl's face, searching for signs of a joke.

  "Yes, but it must happen soon. I've slowed time to give us an extra ten minutes in here, at most, but it's not one of my strengths." Her voice grew crisp. "He's been careless. Dred has. That's why they sent him to me. Problem child. We'll start at the beginning." She took them down the room to the farthest panel, near a covered object to one side.

  Ivy was going to ask more, but they were at the first panel. She looked at the covered stand, and then to the wall. The floor-length mirror was gone.

  "Today is the first day of our New Year. And, like many cultures," Maeve said, "vampires have their own zodiac."

  Ivy turned and blinked at her. "Zodiac? Like the month you were, well, born in?"

  "Yes, but we use years." Maeve pointed at the first woodcut panel on the wall.

  "We do have an older set," Evandis said, suddenly beside them.

  Ivy yelped and nearly fell, but he took her elbow in a gentle hold.

  "So sorry, Ivy, dear," he said, steadying her. "As I was saying, our older set at our next location was done by a clever chap named Albrecht Dürer in the sixteenth century. Very good work, with a keen eye toward—"

  "Can I tell her this?" Maeve snapped at him.

  He closed his mouth, fangs dimpling his upper lip. "Fine, Maeve."

  "This set is by Gustave Doré, from about two hundred years ago," Maeve said. "Rather recent, actually. It's important to have a good set, Ivy. A really good artist doesn't come around sometimes for centuries."

  "How old are you?" Ivy couldn't stop the question from leaving her mouth.

  "Nine hundred forty-six. But back to the Zodiac."

  Ivy was stunned at the age, but looked at the pile of bones depicted in the woodcut.

  "Vampires have lived through a sort of cycle, largely brought on by our own behavior," Maeve said with a sigh. "Our ac
tions, and human reaction, has put us on a cycle of ten patterns. The Year of the Bone—"

  "I saw sheet music with that name on it in the music room," Ivy blurted.

  "Yes, we do a pageant every end year, which is this year, to remind us of why we must either live in the shadows or assimilate into human culture. It takes a decade for us to get back on track once we fall into old habits, and so it's become our Zodiac," she said, shooting a look down the room.

  Ivy followed her gaze, but saw only a shadow move out of sight at the doorway.

  "During Bone, we pay for the misdeeds of the previous years." Maeve nodded to the woodcut. "It's the decade we find ourselves the most hunted. After striving to coexist with humans, some of us, during the last year, have went back to the old ways. Humans react naturally—hunting us down, eradicating and slaughtering us. We seek refuge in the Old Countries, in supposedly haunted castles and mountain refuges. In essence, we've undone the previous years of relative peace."

  Ivy frowned at the woodcut.

  "Those are vampire bones, Ivy. Not human bones." Maeve moved them to the next panel. "Branard is a Bone, probably why we get along so well. Bone is followed by Year of the Scythe, as in a great harvest. It dates back centuries, when villagers and peasants mounted full-scale huntings of vampires. We had fewer places to hide and were driven further away from human dwelling places. The Grim Reaper story is actually based on a notorious vampire killer from that year."

  "Stansa is a Scythe," Evandis said. "Her brother, Strasse, is Eclipse. But I'm rushing things."

  "Yes, he is," Maeve said. "These things must be explained in order, Ivy." She moved them down to the next woodcut illustrating the cave. "Year of the Stone has little vampire activity. We're all holed up in our best refuges, formerly caves, even in bat form, to wait out the human fury. Some of us got moody and focused on creative talents. Like Rockfort, many Stones took to the quiet arts."

  "How do you know?" Ivy couldn't help but ask, interested despite the oddness of the subject.

  "We carry the mark of our year, in our flesh, like a birthmark," Evandis said.

  "And once a student enters the Human world to acclimate," Maeve said, "they've earned the privilege to accept another mark that amplifies our birthmarks, one not visible to the human eye—only other vampires. It's one that enables them to interact as a human, in sunlight, with their taste for blood largely diminished. Of course," she added, smiling some, "the student must exhibit fortitude of spirit, too. They must deny any urges they feel."

  "It gets easier with time," Evandis said.

  "Unless something stirs them up," Maeve said. "Like a vampire of bad blood."

  Ivy felt she knew who Maeve spoke of. "Dred."

  "He's had issues. Trouble. He's not the only one." Maeve took her to the next woodcut. "Year of the Nightshade, where those born share exceptional beauty. Berella and Scarlet. Berella fights that, trying to look tough, punk, but that's her year. Nightshades are usually extremely gullible or cunning as well as beautiful."

  "Year of the Blade," Evandis said as they moved to the next woodcut. "A pugnacious lot. Rimbladt's year."

  Ivy had guessed as much. They halted before the man merged with a tree.

  "Year of the Willow," Maeve said.

  Ivy was already looking at Evandis.

  "A sorrowful man, bent and sensitive, but also talented and most willing to blend into Human society." Maeve cleared her throat. "Like Evandis here."

  He smiled at Ivy.

  Somehow, the tree seemed perfectly matched to the artist. "I see it," she said, smiling a little.

  "Do you really?" He returned her smile, his fangs making her remember where she was.

  She turned back to the woodcut. The man and tree were drooping, as if weary. She looked closer, realizing that one of the man's hands in the branches was holding a watch dangling from a chain. "Yes, I do."

  "Willows are known for their desire to make amends with humans, to fit in, to cooperate. Raven," Maeve said, moving them to the woodcut of a bird. "My year. Marked for wisdom and triumph."

  "As well as beauty," Evandis noted.

  Maeve laughed. "On my mother's side. She was Nightshade. Ravens are most likely to see the futility in the strong vampire ways. We learn from the past, Ivy."

  "Oh." Ivy nodded.

  They stopped before the woodcut of two circles nearly on top of each other.

  "Year of the Eclipse. Vampires born this year feel lucky. They're far removed from the horrors of Bone and Scythe. Most live in gypsy camps and travel for events, like your Autumn Fest." Maeve moved them to the next panel. "Many are fortunetellers—giving everyone undeservingly good fortunes. Some are magicians."

  "A most unfavorite," Evandis said as they stopped at the woodcut of the moon.

  Ivy stared at the round, full moon.

  "Year of the Moon," Maeve said. "When things start to go bad again. During Moon, human blood runs highest, nearer to the skin's surface. You can smell it easier. The smallest cut can bring out even the most-buried instincts."

  Ivy was afraid to ask.

  "Jovan," Evandis said. "But he's well-disciplined, Ivy. Of strong character."

  "And bi-polar, by human standards," Maeve said, noting Ivy's paleness.

  "Tidal, in vampire terms," Evandis told her. "He turns his drive into his music."

  Ivy could only nod, recalling Jovan's nearness at the harp.

  "And our last." Maeve stood them before the final woodcut.

  The carved vampire seemed to look back at them, and deep into Ivy's soul. She shivered, pressing one hand to her reddened bodice.

  "Year of the Vampire," Maeve said solemnly.

  "This year," Ivy said, barely above a whisper.

  "Yes. It begins in full today, November First." Maeve sighed. "The most dangerous year of the cycle. After doing so well for the preceding years, vampires born this year have the highest tendencies to revert back to the old ways. Which," she said, pulling Ivy back to the first panel again, "is why Vampire is always followed by Year of the Bone. Vampire culture messes up the decade of work for peace, sometimes falling back into aggressiveness, and humankind reacts accordingly." Maeve shook her head. "A cycle we can sometimes get past, but never for more than a century or two. A constant struggle. That's why we have places like this, to teach and test young vampire students."

  They were at the front of the room again, staring at the pile of bones in the Year of the Bone woodcut.

  "So you can see why we want you to stay," Evandis told Ivy.

  She looked up at him, frowning. "I . . . don't quite understand. No."

  "They want you to have a place here." Maeve's tone grew irritated. "Sometimes, in lieu of reverting to full vampire tendencies, we find an individual that speaks to us—many of us, at least—to our follies, to our self-interests, our need for attention."

  "I admit I am guilty of that," Evandis said slowly. "Many of us are, Ivy."

  "Although we train to live among the world of humans, sometimes we choose to live apart. Some of us never leaving unless extremely necessary." Maeve gave Evandis a caustic look. "Like for supplies for an art form." She turned back to Ivy.

  "You want me to stay, as a constant . . ." Ivy swallowed the lump in her throat. "As a constant audience?"

  "It sounds so callous like that, but yes." Evandis sighed. "I am not proud of that. I believe none of us are."

  "Not all of us feel that way." Maeve shook her head. "The vote was four to five. Strasse and Stansa didn't vote. Dred didn't vote, either. He had already left."

  Ivy was about to speak, when a movement behind her made her turn.

  "I don't think a vote really matters anyway," Vohn said.

  Ivy hadn't noticed him there until he spoke.

  Behind him, the easel was uncovered. On it was a painting of Ivy. Rockfort's work, in violet and charcoals. It wasn't as complete as the woman in fog on the pier she had seen at the Autumn Fest, but the style was similar.

  Ivy backed up as Mae
ve and Evandis stood their ground. Ivy stared at Vohn, now a full vampire, his black cape pushed over one shoulder.

  "That's not what tonight is about." Vohn leveled a dismissive look on Maeve as he approached her. "You run a nice little operation here, Raven, but you're in over your head this time." He swept back the other side of his cape and drew the sword holstered at his hip.

  Ivy leapt back as he plunged the blade through Maeve.

  She screamed, a sound like a bird being pulled apart. She fell back to the wall, knocking a wall sconce off that lit the rug on fire. "What are you doing, Vosporos?"

  Evandis stomped out the fire and blocked Vohn's path to Maeve. "Run, Ivy! The ballroom!"

  "You feather," Vohn growled, slicing at Evandis, who raised his arm to block.

  Evandis' arm caught the blade on the flat side, threw off Vohn, and grabbed Ivy's arm, shoving her behind him. "Get out!"

  She tumbled out the doorway, into the ballroom.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The door locked behind Ivy as soon as she stumbled through it.

  Most of the other residents were still gathered in the ballroom, all watching the door and her entrance.

  "What's going on?" Rimbladt asked. Behind him, Mandrake, Jovan, and the two gypsies were deep in a musical number of piano, violins, and cello.

  Ivy stopped, the music seeping into her soul, stilling any dire need for help. The melody came in a wave, through her, seemingly replacing the blood in her veins.

  "You've come to an answer?" Scarlet asked. She held a bouquet of red roses in her arms. "I would so love for you to stay, Ivy. I know Rockfort would paint us in the loveliest—"

  "The mirror," Dred said, pointing at the tall, tapestry covered rectangle to the side of Ivy at the wall. It was partly blocked by a three-panel folding screen.

  She turned as gray smoke billowed past her.