The Journal of Vincent Du Maurier Trilogy (Books 1, 2, 3)

by K. P. Ambroziak

  Peter forced his signal into my head, shutting all the others out, even Vincent’s. The murmur escalated, and soon his coo pierced me with a shriek. When I looked at him, he narrowed his eyes and motioned for me to follow. I didn’t want to leave, especially since Zhi had unleashed his talons, but Peter insisted, pulling on my injured arm. If his frequency hadn’t hacked into my mind to commandeer my gift, I would’ve heard the roar of the vampires, entranced by the match about to take place in the pit. I looked back at my beloved, unruffled despite Zhi’s threatening posture.

  “You’ve certainly made a mess of things,” Peter said, as he led me away from the fray. It was difficult to concentrate, as vampires rushed toward us in the passageway, passing by to get a seat for the spectacle.

  “What’s going to happen?” I didn’t know if Peter could hear me.

  “You don’t need to know,” he said. “But Vincent’s not in danger. Zhi’s the one who needs to worry.” I felt some relief at that, but wanted to see it still. “You must feed,” Peter said. “Your arm won’t heal without blood.”

  He didn’t bring me to the den this time, but escorted me down to his small compartment behind the engine room. I didn’t ask why since one didn’t need to voice everything with Peter. He’d tell me why if he wanted to.

  “It’ll be the same donor as last time,” he said.

  “The strawberry blond?”

  He gave me a strange look. “No, Hal.”

  “Who’s Hal?”

  Peter smiled. “They have names, Evelina, despite their role here.”

  Having been a donor, I understood the sacrifice it entailed.

  “I didn’t mean to scold you,” Peter said. “I know you can empathize, but things aren’t quite what they seem.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  Peter crossed the deck and stood next to the door.

  “Ah,” he said. “Of course you don’t, but your maker may remedy that when she’s ready. In the meantime, let me say that Hal is from America.” I could barely process the questions I wanted to pose. “I see,” Peter said. “You know about America.”

  “Not particularly,” I said. I’d studied its downfall in my history class, but we barely touched on the False Escape or the Water Rebellion. America had been sold to us as a place of myth, an empire that had been a world power once upon a time but had fallen onto a path of despair in recent decades. I could only imagine what kind of havoc the plague had reaped.

  “Your donor is from a special facility in the Nortrak—some regions of the continent were sealed off beforehand,” he said.

  I must have offered him the most blank expression since he didn’t even attempt to read my mind. “Your maker is well connected, Evelina,” he said. “Which speaks to the power of Xing Fu’s venomline.”

  I couldn’t process the idea of a functioning society in America, one I’d imagined once upon a time. I wondered if Europe saw the worst of the pandemic.

  “No,” Peter said, answering a question I hadn’t asked. “It’s everywhere, but forget I mentioned it. It’s not something you need to be concerned about. You’ve got plenty on your plate at the moment, and healing your arm is the first of those things. Sit.”

  I obeyed, though the haze of my newly injured condition made Peter seem farther from me than he was. I could barely hear his frequency, let alone his voice. My arm hadn’t hurt in the beginning, but now it felt like it was on fire.

  “Oh, dear Evie,” Peter said. “Hang on—he should be here soon. In the meantime, let me set it?”

  If I’d known he meant let me increase your discomfort a hundredfold, I would’ve refused. Peter took my loose arm and yanked it, pulling it farther from the socket. A low guttural growl escaped my lips, and I whacked Peter in the head with my free arm. I didn’t mean to lash out but the pain he induced prodded me like a hot poker on a steer’s backside.

  “Oh, I see what I’ve done,” he said. “Let’s try again.” He renewed his effort, unaffected by my slap, and yanked on the dislocated arm a second time. I growled more loudly and rammed my fist into his jowl, knocking his chin sideways. He released his iron fangs, and then cringed when he realized it. He pulled them back up and laughed with a soulful chuckle. “Not quite,” he said. “But we’ll get you there.”

  When he went for my dislocated arm a third time, I shifted my body sideways to block him. “I don’t think so,” I said. “Unless you’re going to put it back in place, it’s off limits.”

  “It’ll set itself once the donor arrives,” he said. I didn’t doubt the drink would heal my injury. “Oh, not only the drink,” he said. “The promise alone will reset the arm. Watch.” He got up and unlocked the door for Hal, who was just on the other side. He wasn’t alone, but a towering blond bodyguard escorted him. Humans didn’t travel through the ship’s passageways unaccompanied.

  Hal smiled at me, and entered without his vampire companion. I barely acknowledged the donor, taken with the verity of Peter’s prediction. The moment I saw the hue of the man’s skin, my dislocated arm thrust itself upwards, finding its way into the socket again. I barely had time to notice the pleasure of my relief, for Peter led the man to the berth and pushed him on me, where my fangs did the only thing they were good for then. I drank Hal’s blood to a nauseous stupor, as he lay back on the berth. Only when Peter forced me from him, did I let my fangs retract, still dripping with his blood. I soon fell beside him, writhing in the ecstasy of my homespun cure.

  “Enjoy,” Peter said, his voice fading, as I dropped into oblivion.

  I don’t know how long I was out but when I opened my eyes, Peter was at my side. I could barely carry on a conversation, high as I was, but he read my mind.

  “Vincent is fine,” he said.

  “My paramooooor.” I slurred my speech and giggled at the sound of my voice. I barely recognized it, rich and deep like Elizabeth’s.

  “It’s the blood,” Peter said. “It’ll change you in all manner of ways.” He pointed to my arm. “Better?”

  “Good as new,” I said.

  “Stronger than new, I’ll bet.” He smiled in his charitable way and then seemed taken with something, as I tried to recall what it was I was just thinking. “Who’s Elizabeth?” He asked.

  I hadn’t mentioned her but knew I must have thought of her at some point. Aha, the voice, yes, my voice was like hers. I pictured the vampire in my mind.

  “She’s—she’s beautiful,” Peter said.

  But just as I’d turned back to greet the dead, I recalled her as I’d last seen her, chipped and dissolved to a pile of salt, lying in a mound of dust on the villa’s floor. The corners of my eyes tightened again and my stomach burned.

  “I see,” Peter said. “Such a shame. For a moment, I thought—never mind.”

  “What?”

  “It’s nothing,” he said. “Never mind. Shall we?” He motioned for me to get up off the berth, which is when I noticed Hal was gone. “Once you were finished, I sent him back with his escort.”

  “I didn’t acknowledge him, did I?”

  “There’s no need,” Peter said. “He’s here to serve you, and he knows that. They come aboard willingly.”

  “But why?” I thought about the perversion of sucking his blood without any regard to him as a person. I’d complied with Vincent, but only because he could keep me safe, and I’d grown attached to him over time. When he rescued us in the trattoria, I remember the sense of relief I felt at seeing a real man—strong, capable, decent. He exuded those qualities and I would’ve done anything to be in his care. I think that’s also what drew me to Byron. He was kind and capable and I could see the love between him and Vincent.

  “Who’s Byron?”

  “Damn,” I said. “You really should know when private thoughts are private.”

  “Forgive me, Evelina,” Peter said. “I just, well, I recognized the vampire you call Byron. I’m just not certain how. Is he old?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But he’s gone
now.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “He was Vincent’s—”

  Peter put up a hand. “I already know,” he said with a smile. “Let me answer your original question as best I can. The situation with the donors is more complicated than it seems, which is something your maker may choose to share with you if you gain her trust. But know this—they are not all here by choice.”

  “Some are captives?”

  “Not captives,” he said. “Again, it’s complicated, but from what I’ve gathered, some of the humans on the ship seem to be made for their role here.”

  Peter emphasized the word made, as if it were loaded. “Made?”

  “I only know what I know by parsing bits and pieces,” he said. “My gift has a mind of its own, if you know what I mean.”

  “You learn things you’re not supposed to?” I knew exactly what he meant, having been the object of his gift’s despotic reign since meeting.

  “I imagine your maker will let you in on her secret at some point,” he said. “Once you’ve earned her trust, you may end up usurping her closest vampire.”

  “Tell me about my maker,” I said.

  “She was transfigured in the early twentieth century,” Peter said. “An older one—not as ancient as Vincent mind you—chose her as disciple to the surprise of many. Your venomline is esteemed.”

  “Is that what makes her so powerful? How she can rule a ship of vampires who seem eager to bend at her will?”

  “She has blood,” Peter said. “Her ability to supply can’t be discounted.”

  “But she’s driven by personal interest,” I said.

  “Aren’t we all?” Peter grinned. “Listen, there’s much to learn about our history, our kind, but I’m assigned to teach you other things.”

  I rolled my eyes without realizing it.

  “I see what I’ve done,” he said. “I’ve said too much. You’ll remain a novice if you can’t gain the discipline required of you. You’re only at the start of what will prove to be a long road, and you’ve yet to learn how to feed without losing control of your emotions above all else.” I looked away, though he continued to chastise me. “As your mentor, I’m to teach you these things, but I’m also responsible for showing you how to wield your gifts.”

  I thought my supersonic ability to detect frequencies was my only gift.

  “It’s a gift to be sure, but you have others,” he said. “With a maker like Cixi, a venomline comparable to the House of Bazaraab, how can you not?”

  I didn’t want to belong to such a venomline—I wanted to be Vincent’s, and saw my inheritance as a prison sentence.

  “Don’t see it as a punishment,” he said. “Look at this as a time to become the best of us. You may leave here one day, and must be prepared for whatever world awaits you.”

  “I don’t have to stay with the Empress if I don’t want to?”

  “We are free beings,” he said.

  “I can leave with Vincent if he leaves?”

  Peter smiled, but only out of sympathy. “You can’t know if the ancient one wants you to follow him.” He spoke in earnest, and couldn’t have intended to plant the seed of doubt, but, too late, I cultivated its thorny weed.

  “I’ve no intention of staying with the Empress,” I said.

  “What makes you think you’ll want to leave?”

  Unless Vincent stayed, I’d leave with him despite his wanting me to or not.

  “Not every vampire is made by one as powerful as the Empress,” Peter said. “I would be careful about sharing your feelings with her. She chose you, Evelina. Don’t let her see your contempt for her choice. If she knows how well you love Vincent, she will hold on to you more tightly. She’s a collector—and a spiteful owner.”

  “I’m not afraid of her,” I said.

  “Good,” Peter said. “She’s requested your presence again and if you show her fear, she may take it out on me. She’ll think I’m unsatisfactory as a mentor and may take you from me. I don’t want that. I like being your mentor.” He smiled and looked away as though the confession embarrassed him. “Besides, fear is a weakness the Empress doesn’t tolerate, especially in a prodigy.”

  I noticed Peter’s choice of words—that I was some kind of prodigy—though I assumed his intention was to bolster my courage. I denied my fear, but I know Peter saw the truth. I don’t know why it made me nervous to see her again. I felt nothing for her, and disliked being hers.

  “Put on a brave face,” he said. “I don’t believe she can read minds, but be diplomatic in thought, as well as in speech, just in case.”

  “Why does she want to see me?”

  “She’s been apprised of your courage,” he said.

  “About that,” I said. “I wasn’t being brave. I sort of had no choice. I was drawn to his—”

  “I know,” Peter said. “I saw it. It may have been more foolish than brave, but it simply means we’ll have to step up your training and give you the tools you need to control your weakness.”

  Anger constricted my belly and Hal’s blood felt like a lump of stone in the pit of my core. “What weakness?” I asked.

  “Your penchant for heroism,” he said. “You’ll see, Evelina. We’re not all like you.”

  I didn’t doubt it since I was the progeny of a shrewd ruler and an acolyte to an ancient hero.

  Peter escorted me to the Empress’s cabin, and I thought it strange I had yet to walk the passageways alone. When we passed the Millais, I stopped to admire it again. The girl still floated in the shallow water, but she seemed more hopeful than she had the first time I saw her. Death flattered her.

  “It’s one of my favorites,” Peter said. “John disliked this one.”

  “Who’s John?”

  “The painter,” he said. “He thought her too old, despite his effort to make her look young.”

  “You knew the painter?”

  “Oh, the lives I’ve lived,” he said. “I’ve known many great artists, though I’ll say John is one of my favorites. He and Effie were close friends for a time—and Sophy—ah, Sophy—the nymph stole my heart. She’s breathtaking, more beautiful than John’s portrait suggests—” Peter paused and gazed at me. “Ah, I see,” he said. “I just realized how much you look like her.”

  “Ophelia?”

  “No, Sophy,” he said. “I’ll have to show you the portrait.”

  “Is it on the ship?”

  “No,” he said. “It’s probably still on a wall in London, reaping the peace and quiet of a long dead audience.”

  Peter hadn’t relinquished his gaze and I would’ve blushed if I were human, but I didn’t pull my eyes from the Millais, though his stare could’ve drilled a hole through me. I concentrated on his signal, hoping he’d get the message.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I can get carried away.” He returned to the painting, though he shuffled closer to my side. “Yes, Ophelia. Let’s study her.”

  I memorized the canvas, imprinting the image on my mind. Had I still been a mere girl, I would’ve believed I was fated to drown like her.

  “Bida.” Youlan snuck up on us, lost in thought, as we gazed at the portrait. “Ninung ninung tungte.”

  “Yu han,” Peter said. “Come, Evelina.”

  Youlan ignored me, as she led us to the Empress’s cabin. She addressed Peter, turning to speak to him every few feet. “Ni yiding poyo rang shingwen danwun ya.” The only word I recognized was shingwen, which I thought might refer to me since Zhi had also used it. When I realized learning Mandarin would give me an advantage, I was bent on doing just that.

  I heard the frequencies of others, as we advanced through the passageways, and every so often I’d hear the sounds of pleasure and small chatter. I couldn’t tell which voices belonged to vampires and which to humans since they blended into one stream of sound, but I concentrated on them, working to hone my talent. I knew this was one of my gifts since voices couldn’t possibly carry so easily through the metal bulkheads. On awakening, I’d de
veloped some kind of advanced hearing, like a communication satellite that orbited the earth picking up signals. I’d once learned about these orbital stations that rotated around our planet and monitored all manner of sounds. In school, we were taught Americans had invented them and that they used them to eavesdrop on the rest of the world. Whenever I launched my telescreen to reach my grandmother, I’d think about those satellites. That world is gone now, or at least it seems so.

  My ability to amplify private conversations has improved, but when I first discovered it, I didn’t tell Peter about it. I was unsure I’d heard what I thought I did, as I followed him and Youlan through the passageways to meet the Empress. As I searched the catalog of frequencies and voices that came at me, I listened for one specific sound—my sparrow—and when I found it, faint as it was, I ignored everything else. I concentrated on Vincent’s call and tried to locate him but could only draw the sound nearer. By doing so, I picked up his speaking voice beneath his signal. I knew it was his—I’d always know his voice—but I couldn’t make out his words until I closed my eyes. When I cut off my sight, the sound opened up. He spoke to someone, but the other voice was muddled.

  “She is in danger,” Vincent said.

  “How … stop … from … her.”

  “She needs to be prepared,” he said. “Peter will obviously not do and the one you have chosen is too fickle. Suggest another.”

  “The … ing … rd,” the other said.

  “Take me to him,” Vincent said.

  Interference from a vampire who approached us from the other end of the passageway broke my concentration and Vincent’s voice was lost to static. Youlan nodded to the vampire, though Peter dropped his eyes and turned his head. She grinned and hissed noviciat under her breath. Her signal may only be described as a garbled shriek since its distorted sound is like the feedback a speaker gives off if you put it too close to a microphone. I looked back at her after she passed, but she was swift and had already disappeared through the door at the end.

  I tried to tune in to Vincent’s voice again, as I pushed the frequencies away, but I was too close to my maker’s cabin. Her lurid screech, which sounded something like an agitated simian, was all I could hear. I sucked in my breath, as I tried to quell the burn in my chest. I didn’t know why I was nervous, but I got the sense Empress Cixi wielded more power over me than I’d been led to believe. Peter turned to me and smiled. “Ready,” he whispered.