I counted forty-two vampires in line to feed, as we passed. I could smell the blood through several bulkheads, the den tucked somewhere inside, and the vampires’ signals bounced off one another like the clangor of an unrehearsed school band. The racket bothered me, and my belly hardened. I tried to ignore them but the cacophony only died when we passed into another passageway, shutting the door behind us.
“Who were they?” I asked.
Vincent dismissed my curiosity. “Peter will address your questions,” he said.
I grit my teeth without realizing I did so until my points dropped and forced my mouth shut. “Ow,” I said.
Vincent turned and glared at me. “Is there a problem, Evelina?”
Like a headmaster scolding a student, he condescended to me. I shook my head, though the wretched corners of my eyes tightened again, emotion begging to get out. “I’m fine.”
He looked at me for a moment, poised with his scowl, and I returned his stare, forcing myself to bear the rebuke. “Be brave,” he said. “You have a long way to go.” His face softened and he looked as if he wanted to say more, but turned and continued on instead.
As I recall that look now, I wonder whether impatience prompted it or if he felt something greater, some sympathy or deeper attachment to me though I belonged to another. I wanted to tell him I was still the same girl inside and that I’d be his if he’d have me, but I couldn’t bear the humiliation. I recall his telling me, “Nostalgia will choke you with every memory you clutch, so you must kill the urge to think of the past. The past is gone, which is why you shall continue to right the present.” Perhaps he meant write, not right.
We passed a compartment with its door ajar. I’d heard the vampire before I saw him. His frequency was boisterous, like an untuned violin, and his appearance couldn’t have been more of a contrast to the sound. He looked at me as I passed, smiling and jutting out his chin as though acknowledging me. He whispered something but I couldn’t understand French. His frequency dropped away faster than the others, but his whisper lingered—novicia.
When we reached the end of the passageway, the hum of the ship’s generators drowned out the other sounds. Vincent flew down the ladderlike steps to the engine room, waiting for me at the bottom. “Come,” he said.
I don’t know why I hesitated, but I feared heading deeper into the belly of the ship. For the first time, I realized the only thing between me and the water was the metal bulkheads and the thought made me uncomfortable. It was a pesky childhood memory, but one I had yet to forget. I froze on the spot.
“Come,” he said again. “Now.” I willed my legs to move and take the steps down, gripping the rails with my hardened fingers. “We are almost there,” he said. “Are you hungry?”
I hadn’t thought about feeding, despite what I assume is a natural desire for a vampire. I was too nervous to think about it in fact, and was sincere when I said my desire for Vincent superseded my want for blood. “No,” I said.
He scowled at me, sizing me up. “You will feed soon anyhow,” he said. “Peter will take you.” I didn’t question my master. “Come,” he said.
His impatience worried me—I hoped it wasn’t because he wanted to be rid of me.
We worked our way past machines and contraptions that only an engineer could command. I heard some faint signals but no voices until the drone of a beehive caught my attention. When we reached the vampire playing a game of solitaire on a small table in the engine room, I knew the drone belonged to him. He laid the cards down with speed, lining up his suits like they’d been readied beforehand. He glanced up at us, and dropped the cards when he saw Vincent, standing to greet him. My master barely acknowledged him, asking him where he could find Peter.
“Ack terine,” he said.
“He is in the back,” Vincent said, more for his own benefit than mine. “Wait here.”
The solitaire player returned to his game as soon as my master left, and didn’t look up at me again. He wasn’t too old, maybe thirty—in human years anyhow. He seemed a stodgy fellow, uninterested in everything, though I only had his frequency to go on since he didn’t address me. The dull drone of the bees marked his boredom, and kept my attention until the murmur of a dove’s coo drew me in. Peter’s frequency harmonized with Vincent’s, and the two together seemed evenly matched. Envy’s ugly sister plucked at me again, as I pictured a wise vampire, wearing the remnants of a handsome face like Byron’s—his sweet aspect, warm countenance, and soft eyes, I still recall them perfectly. But Peter was nothing like Byron, and I almost faltered when I saw him. He looked young—younger in fact than me.
“Evelina,” he said, as he stretched his hand out to greet me. “It’s nice to finally put a face to your name.”
“This is Peter Vaudès,” Vincent said. “He will be your mentor.”
I reached out and shook his hand but the gesture seemed unnatural for both of us. “Hello,” I said.
Peter’s smile invited me in, and his face suggested a gentle soul, if in fact we still have souls. My spiritual state seems precarious and of little consequence now—I have forgotten the catechism I once knew by heart.
“Peter is equipped to teach you what you need to learn,” Vincent said. “He will be your guide for the time being.”
“What about the Empress?” I asked.
“I’m sure she’ll want to see how you progress,” Peter said. “But you’ve got a ways to go yet.” He smiled warmly.
“Will you show Evelina back to her compartment when you are finished with her?” Vincent spoke to Peter as if they were alone.
“I’m happy to keep her here if you’d like,” Peter said to Vincent, as he examined me. “Her limbs are quite long.” He objectified me, speaking about me as if he were a farmer buying a calf. His detachment comforted me, though, since Vincent seemed to take interest in my features when Peter remarked on their potential, reassuring me of my place in his future. It made me think he wouldn’t abandon me if he could see my worth.
When Vincent finished his directives, he told Peter I wouldn’t disappoint him. “She has a fire in her that makes her resilient,” he said. “Try to tap into it early on.” He turned to me before he left, scowling at me as usual. “Obey Peter,” he said. “He knows what is good for you, and will not lead you astray.”
“I will,” I said, wanting to tell him I’d miss every moment away from him, but I squashed my emotion for the hundredth time since my awakening. My heart broke a little when he said goodbye. If he hadn’t told Peter to return me to my compartment, I would’ve believed he was leaving for good. But I held onto the thought of seeing him again, ambitious to make him proud. When he left me, flying up the ladder to the ship’s upper deck, I held my gaze on his path, listening to the magical loop of his sparrow’s warble. As long as I received his signal, I was all right.
“Evelina,” Peter said. “Come with me.”
I wouldn’t trade my sparrow for the dove, but I followed my mentor as the obedient disciple I would prove to be. Peter led me past the solitaire player, who continued to ignore us, and deeper into the engine room where a row of compartments were hidden in plain sight. We stopped at the door of one and Peter unlocked it with a swift spin of a wheel, and then opened it, gesturing for me to enter. I stepped into the small cabin, one-third the size of mine, and stood in the center, glancing about the space, noticing the bare bulkheads and sparse furnishings. A stool sat in front of a small ledge that held a thick volume next to a string of beads. The bible and rosary seemed out of place in the vampire’s compartment.
Peter chuckled and then offered me the stool. “Please sit,” he said. “You’ve got nothing to fear. I want to be your friend.”
“I’m not scared,” I said. It wasn’t entirely a lie, but neither was it the whole truth. Peter didn’t frighten me, but his plans for me did. Plus, I suffered Vincent’s absence since his signal had died out to a mere trace in my mind.
“You like him, don’t you?” Peter asked.
I could’ve ques
tioned to whom he referred, but I knew he meant Vincent. “He saved me,” I said. “We’ve—”
“I know your story,” he said. “You don’t have to tell me. I think it’s lucky you’ve already found the one.”
“The one?”
“Your paramour,” he said.
“I don’t know that word.”
“Oh, it’s a French expression, forgive me,” he said, searching for the Italian equivalent. “Inamorato—I think that’s correct.” Instead of blushing at his presumption, my jaw clenched, as the familiar burn of anger gnawed at me. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said, smiling with such genuine emotion I couldn’t resist softening.
“I’m not upset,” I said.
“Perhaps you’re hungry?”
“Perhaps.” If I was starved, I didn’t know it. I didn’t crave blood, just Vincent.
“You’ll see him again,” he said. “Sorry. I’ve got to stop doing that. It’s a bad habit.”
Peter can read minds, which I discovered when he anticipated everything I wanted to say. He knew my feelings for Vincent before we said our first hello. He said my thoughts were endearing, and told me he’d never seen a greater attachment between vampires.
“I thought it was because he’s, well, you know—the ancient one,” he said. “But I can see that something stronger anchors your affection. It’s probably because you fell in love with him when you were still human? Did you pledge yourself to him then?” I didn’t say anything, but recalled the night we stayed in the winery and he drank from me while I slept. The memory made my throat tighten.
“Ah,” Peter said. “You surrendered long ago.” I wanted to ask him if he could read Vincent’s mind, if my master desired me as much as I him, but I didn’t have to, for he offered his response freely. “I can’t see into his mind,” he said. “I’m too young for that.”
“How old are you?” I asked.
“About 498, give or take a year. It’s hard to keep track, as you can imagine.” He smiled, showing me his fangs. “Oh, I see what you mean. Human years? Ah, yes.”
“You look young,” I said.
“I was seventeen when my maker found me near death,” he said.
I hadn’t sat when he first asked me to, but when he gestured again for me to sit on the stool, I did. He sat across from me on the berth, leaning forward to tell his story. “I lived in Paris, right in its heart. I was, unfortunately—or perhaps not—in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was stabbed on Rue Saint-Séverin, a few feet from the steps of the flamboyant Roman Church near Saint-Jacques. Do you believe that? I was sacrificed for the cause, slated to be a martyr of sorts, one of many victims of the massacre that began on St. Bartholomew’s Day—a massacre, I’ll add, that lasted more than two centuries—ah, but alas.”
“How do you remember who you were?” I asked.
“The memory of my pain lives in me still, despite the healed scars,” he said. “The relief I gained upon my redemption was so great I can never forget it.” He smiled. “You see, when my maker found me, I was a few breaths away from death and thought she was one of the Lord’s angels come to bring me home.” Peter paused, as if still in the grips of that emotional wave, and then smiled again. “My change was a happy one, Evelina,” he said. “The vampire goddess was the most generous creature I’ve ever known and when she kissed my forehead, the coolness of her touch was like a balm from the Tree of Life. I begged her to take me.”
“Is she on the ship?”
His smile faded and I regretted my question. “Ah,” he said. “I see what I’ve done. I led you to believe my maker is with us, but unfortunately she’s not.”
I didn’t ask where she was, knowing he’d tell me that part of his story if he wanted. “Do you remember your transformation?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.
“Do you?” He asked in return. “Impossible, isn’t it?” I conceded it was. “But you reminisce about your awakening, don’t you?”
I recalled the bliss of waking in Vincent’s arms.
“I see,” he said. “Yours is a good memory too. But who actually remembers their birth? Can you recall swimming in your mother’s womb or sliding out from between her legs into the frigid air?”
His questions made me think of my child, though her birth seemed a lifetime ago.
“She is no longer yours,” he said. “But she is healthy and well. The donors have taken a shine to her, and the Empress will cherish her, despite her lack of indulgence.”
“Why do we forget our human life?”
“Some of us don’t,” he said. “I’m forced to remember everything I lived before my awakening.”
“Why?”
“I think it’s because I have a penance due,” he said. “God needs me to remember.” He smiled again. “Ah, Evelina,” he said. “I see you know who I’m talking about. You’ve met the one true God to whom our return is delayed.”
“You believe in heaven, even for vampires?”
“Why not?” He said. “I’m still a living creature, and though I may seem immortal, my existence could end tomorrow just as it can for any other freethinking agent. We live longer than most, but do you know how many years Methuselah lived?”
“Was he a vampire?”
Peter reached out and touched my hand. “You are pure, Evelina,” he said. “Don’t ever change.”
I’ll admit I liked Peter from the start. He was easy to talk to and kind and reminded me of Elizabeth.
We didn’t stay in the compartment for long because he soon realized I needed to feed. He led me back through the engine room, past the solitaire player, and up the ladder to the deck above. I listened for Vincent’s frequency, but couldn’t hear it despite the barrage of sounds. I only struggled to distinguish between the signals for a moment, and then was able to order them in rapid succession, counting and organizing them as if they each had a place of their own. Soon I had a full orchestra playing in harmony, and it was easy to add frequencies, as they popped into my head.
“That’s amazing,” Peter said, turning to me. “How do you do that?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t really think about it. It just sort of happens.”
“Can you read every signal onboard?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “How many vampires are onboard?”
“Good point,” he said. “I have no idea.”
When we reached the line of vampires, waiting to enter the den to feed, my orchestra fell apart and a chaos of sound erupted. I tried to reorganize the band, but lost control over it, as the sounds ran wild in my head. “Tune them out for now,” Peter said. “We’ll train you to ignore them eventually.”
“How?”
“Ah,” he said. “We’ll have to work on it.”
The forty or so vampires, waiting in line, paid no attention to us, as we passed them and headed straight to the front. “Shoshinshaga yashinautame ni kokoniaru,” Peter said to the vampire guarding the entrance.
“Hido,” the guard said, as he stepped aside to let us enter.
“You know Mandarin?” I whispered.
“It’s Japanese,” he said. “But, yes, I’m fluent in all languages.”
One of the vampires at the front of the line protested, but the guard hissed at him and he shrank back into his place.
“Are you ready?” Peter asked.
“Ready for wh—oh my.” I hadn’t expected what happened next. When the strawberry blond came to my compartment, I didn’t experience her color. Her smell was vibrant, and the sound of her pulse drew me in, but her color was dull. She may as well have been a figure of black and white, for the only red I saw was in her hair, a color that barely registered. When I entered the den with Peter, however, I experienced true color. Like nothing I’d seen before, the hue of each donor was electric and popped out at me as if humans were made up of tiny sparks of color. Neon and vibrant shades spun around the room, dancing to the rhythm of their pulsing hearts. Vincent never explained color—it was always
my smell, my taste, my skin that enraptured him—oh, my beloved Vincent, what was my color …
“This is where you’ll need to concentrate, Evelina,” Peter said. “Evelina?”
His voice was lost amidst the throbbing den. I heard his dovelike coo, but his words escaped me. I let him lead me to a man who lay on the daybed nearest us. He was shirtless, but all I saw was the sheen of his olive skin, as if bronzed in the sun only moments ago. Peter addressed the man and he moved toward me, taking me by the hand and sitting me beside him. I don’t know whether I floated gracefully or dropped sloppily at his side since I was perfectly lost in the colors. When the man tilted his head to the side and offered me his neck, my points ripped my gums, sending a shot of terror through me.
“Ow,” I said with barely a whisper.
Just as I’d been taught, I let my fangs find the spot and prick the neon skin. When I felt the heat of the man’s blood in my mouth, every color faded, except for the crimson draft—dark as ink—which my lips summoned to my hardened body. I closed my eyes and pictured my beloved’s face, as darkness consumed me.
I woke up from my stupor, craving the man’s blood. Peter had brought me back to my compartment, though I don’t remember our walk through the passageways. The last thing he said to me was, “Vincent insists you—” Peter’s words faded and when my mind came alive again, I couldn’t recall them. The blood high wore off eventually, but the desire raged on, as it does now, leaving me hollow throughout. I’m hungry—starved—broken again …
Entry 3
I was snatched from the shed and brought out to a tree. The leader came for me and I barely had time to tuck the book and pencil in the waist of my pants. Agile and cunning, he flew into the shed with two henchmen at his side, commanding one of them to unlock my shackles. I inhaled the foul-smelling breath, as the beast leaned close enough to twist off the manacles. I wasn’t frightened—they couldn’t harm me. I calculated whether it was wise to abuse the one closest, but decided against it when I realized I’d have to battle all three at once. I wasn’t certain I could defeat them all.
The Journal of Vincent Du Maurier Trilogy (Books 1, 2, 3) Page 25