“As I told Evelina,” she said, “this is the safest place for me to be. And I’m grateful to be so useful. I’m alive and well, Vincent, and that’s everything to me.”
She is genuine, but her sadness is difficult to ignore; she wears it like a badge of honor. She cannot want this life, but the other option—death—does not suit her, either. I feel nothing for her, though I am grateful for the blood sacrifice she makes, especially for my Evelina.
I must meet this Captain Jem and see whether I cannot get him to spill some secrets. The Empress’s ship is more than it appears to be. Satiated vampires, wanting and violent creatures, may only be restrained if sedated. I wonder how long she has been drugging her donors to domesticate her vampires, and why she has not drugged them all.
Even Later Still — My Evelina suffers. Her maker is cruel and toys with her most wretchedly. I was called in to see the Empress but when I arrived at her cabin, I found Evelina alone feeding on a den donor. The small boy was tranquil as the unruly novice ripped into him and culled his blood with abandon. She was so lost in her feast, she did not sense me enter. I watched her for several moments before my wrath got the better of me and I pushed her head from his throat. Her eyes were closed and she paused briefly, contemplating the disturbance before retracting her fangs. She looked up at me and wiped the blood from her lips. She was in a haze, I could clearly see the effect the boy’s blood had on her. She was a stranger, her hair shorn, her lips swollen with tainted blood. She had disobeyed my order to only drink from Muriel. Keeping her from the den donors will be more difficult than I predicted since she sits in the midst of temptation, and she is most weak.
She surveyed the cabin for her maker, ashamed, I think, of her indulgence.
“She will be back,” I said. “Get up.”
I could not mask the anger in my voice, I could not hide the disappointment that showed on my face. She cowered a little as she stood, and brought her hand to the side of her head, nervously sweeping it across her shaved crown. The boy fled the cabin, fearful of my tone, no doubt. I glared at Evelina, deliberating what to say. I could hear her frequency, flitting about erratically, most likely stimulated by the donor’s blood.
When she looked down at the deck, I snapped. “Look at me,” I said. She obeyed and we locked eyes, my trying to reach her through the haze of her high. I could not speak into her mind, her altered state blocked our transmission. But when I heard her signal fight to align itself with mine, I felt the power of our union once more. She is made for me, Byron, I know this better than I have ever known anything. I drew her into my aura and held her until I sensed the Empress’s arrival. I squeezed Evelina’s hand to awaken her to the threat that returned. I stepped back and waited for Cixi to enter.
“Good,” the Empress said. “She’s told you, then?”
I did not question the Empress’s meaning. She would have had something planned and it was easy to play along without knowing what it was. I greeted the Empress with a confirming nod and smiled, offering her one of my warmer aspects.
She turned her attention to Evelina and made reference to her haircut, taking credit for the change. “I thought it would better suit a progeny of mine.”
I tried to console my anxious novice and said, “Her features are such that she remains beautiful despite the change.”
I made the Empress jealous, and she forced a cigarette on Evelina, reminding me to whom the novice belonged. Her progeny took to it with ease, but I saw her inward rebellion in the way she stubbed out the butt.
I had come to discuss Evelina’s ritual battle of which Youlan had confirmed.
“Yes, of course, the fight,” Cixi said. “We’ll leave strategy to Huitzilli, but we should plan for her failure.”
Unmoved by her maker’s discouragement, I was proud when Evelina said she would not lose to the West African. The Empress, however, was unimpressed with her progeny and scolded her with a blow to the side of her cheek. It took all the discipline I have honed to keep my talons and iron fangs from showing. I wanted to slice Cixi in two, from forehead to navel, and heard nothing of what she said until she mentioned Xing Fu. “My maker will be the one who suffers greatest in this case,” she said.
“And you, Empress,” I said. “Will you not suffer the loss of your fine progeny?”
The wretched queen said she was undecided, claiming she cared nothing for the novice. I knew she was lying but I humored her.
“Will your maker think the Fangool a fine choice for your progeny’s first battle?” I asked.
“Xing Fu requested I be rid of the necromancer long ago,” she said. “But I’ve delayed for reasons you need not know. If my progeny is defeated, however, I hope you will avenge her and have your way with the Fangool.”
This made my subtle fangs drop—though they have a mind of their own, the temptation of a kill is always good for drawing them out. “Is it not more fitting for you to avenge your own venomline?” I laugh when I recall saying this—Evelina is and always will be mine.
The Empress confessed she cared little for her progeny, and I glanced quickly to see how Evelina would take such news, but she was as stoic as ever, her frequency in a lull. I could not resist pulling my novice from her sadness and said, “I see, so you will not mind if she decides to leave?” Her sweet sparrow was piqued and raised a call to mine.
Cixi laid out her terms, assuring me that if Evelina won her ritual battle she would stay with her maker.
“Then I shall avenge your progeny if she is defeated in the ring,” I said. This pleased her and she brought the conversation back to my compensation. I told her my plans were still up in the air, but used the opportunity to test her and said, “I will want a donor or two to take with me.”
She confirmed my suspicion, telling me there were some with which she would not part.
When I left the Empress, I sought out the captain. The guards along the passageways did little to stop me, and one even directed me where to go. I did not knock on Captain Jem’s door when I found his cabin, but trespassed without warning. The wiry man was passed out on his berth with a half empty bottle in one hand and an audio device clutched in the other. I did not think it would be long before he was awake since he stirred when I entered. I snooped through some of his things while I waited, finding a few glass plated photographs of seascapes and several outdated manuals on cargo ships, none of them Cixi’s vessel. The monitors on his interface were black but I tapped one and it came on. It revealed a map of what looked like the Nortrak. The significant points marked on the nautical chart were fluorescent, and one was flashing. I could not tell their exact location, though they looked high enough north. I swiped the screen and another map appeared. It looked like Iceland but was unmarked. The third map was a crude rendition of the Americas after the volcanic ruptures in the early half of the millennium. The world was over-populated then, but now it seemed a sunken wasteland. The last official population count, pre-plague, had been less than half a billion. The Great Melt had thrust our world back to biblical times.
“Who are you?” Captain Jem’s scruffy voice sounded half in a dream. He addressed me in American English with a mouth fitting for a sailor. “How the fuck did you get in?” I turned to look at him and he shot up, bewildered.
I skipped the pleasantries, and made my intentions clear. “I am here for answers.”
“To what fucking questions?” He asked, undeterred by my demeanor. He stood up and said, “I know who you are—you’re the one—the fucking one she’s been blabbing about.”
“Am I?”
“For Chrissake,” he said. “She thinks you’re a fucking god.”
He could not have been referring to the Empress when he said she, for I did not believe she considered me a god.
“Well, shit,” he said. “I guess we can leave this forsaken place since you’re trapped now.”
“Trapped?” I asked.
“Why’d you want to leave where the blood flows freely,” he said. “And those g
irls will throw themselves at you if they haven’t already. Fucking baby lovers.”
“You must be mistaken,” I said. “I am free to come and go as I please. I am only here for a short stay.”
“Right,” he said. He took a swig from the bottle of caramel colored liquor, gluttonously downing the poison. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, “She didn’t say much about the plans, you know, but I hear things.” He slurred his words.
“What sort of things?”
“The girls talk,” he said. “They can’t stop yapping about you.”
“Is that so,” I said.
“She thinks you’re sweet on her,” he said. “Stupid bitch, her brain’s sauce from all the bloodletting.”
“Which girl?”
“The fucking tight-legged, stupid whore,” he said.
“Does she have a name?”
“What does it fucking matter?” He rocked back and forth on his heels and toes, trying to keep his balance. I waited for him to fall back onto the berth. “You only want the drink anyways.” He held his bottle up to me and jiggled it like a set of keys. I did not realize he was offering me some until he said, “Take it—take it.”
I took the bottle from him and placed it on the counter at my side. “Sit,” I said. “Let us have a chat.”
He wobbled and stuck his buttocks out until he flopped back onto the berth. “Chat,” he said. “Chat—chat—chat.” He chuckled. “That’s a funny fucking word.”
It was clear I’d get little information out of the drunk but I pursued my cause nevertheless.
“I have been told you know about the others,” I said, emphasizing others. “The den donors.”
“Murel—Murielle—Murdle—that’s her fucking name,” he said. “She’s the one who thinks you’re the shit. Stupid fuck.”
“Muriel,” I said. “She is the one who told me the den donors are different from the girls who take care of my child.” I did not intend to claim Lucia as my own, but the title of ownership slipped out.
“What the fuck do I know,” he said, chuckling again. “I just captain—I captain the fucking cargo.”
Captain Jem was not tight-lipped, only drunk. I stepped closer to his berth and he leaned back on his elbows, cocking his head to the side and pointing a finger up at me. “You know what,” he said. “I just want to get through this shitty mission—alive if possible—so why don’t we be friends?” The drunk gave me a smarmy smile.
“Do you work for the Empress?” I asked.
“Nah,” he said, waving the air in front of him. “I work for her boss.”
“Her boss?”
“Fucking Yoo-hoo,” he said. “I work for Yoo-hoo.”
“Who is Yoo-hoo?” I asked.
“The queen bee’s owner,” he said. “Yoo-hoo. You know, fucking Yoo-hoo.”
I did not know Yoo-hoo and when I tried to get a description out of him, he laughed. “Looks like all the others.”
“When is the ship leaving for the sunken continent?” I asked.
“I told her I can’t push off,” he said, burping and closing his eyes. I kicked the berth when he seemed to drop away.
“When are you leaving?” I asked.
He pointed to the interface on his countertop. “There’s a fucking eruption just off the coast of Portugal for Chrissake—fucking monsoon everywhere,” he said. “Can’t leave till that fucker’s settled.”
“And if the Empress insists on going sooner?”
“The ship fucking goes when I say,” he said. “I’m the only master and commander these bloodsuckers got.”
“What is on the sunken continent?” I asked. “In the Nortrak?”
“The womb,” he said.
“The womb?”
He laughed and said, “The fucking womb,” as though it were the most hilarious word.
“What is the womb?”
Captain Jem shook his head and said, “I can’t help you.”
The door opened behind me and the vampire said, “Captain Jem’s quarters are private. You shouldn’t be here.”
I winked at the drunk before turning to greet Youlan. I had recognized her voice, though her tone had changed. She was friendlier, if not more gracious, than she had been earlier.
Before we parted ways in the passageway outside the captain’s quarters, she said, “Perhaps you and I should have a go in the ring sometime.”
I smiled. “I doubt it would be worth your while,” I said, leaving her wondering.
***
Entry 5 (cont.)
Dejected and wanting, I roamed the passageways until I reached the den where I’d first met Hal. The line of vampires wasn’t as long as it’d been then, and I joined the end of it. The vampire in front of me smiled when he saw me approach, turning to speak with me. I hadn’t sorted out whose frequency was whose when I came upon the line, but his was distinct now, as he looked at me.
“You’re hungry,” he said.
He was correct, I was hungry again, despite having fed on Muriel not long ago.
“Some blood isn’t as lasting, but you’ll eventually get it,” he said, as he turned to face away again. He chuckled to himself and then sighed. “You’ll learn,” he said, almost under his breath.
The line moved, as two vampires entered the den, and I shuffled forward with the rest of them.
“Evelina,” Peter said, catching me by surprise. I hadn’t heard his frequency above the mess of others. He linked his arm with mine and pulled me from the line. “The Empress’s progeny doesn’t wait,” he said.
He led me to the front, and walked me through the door that was guarded by a different vampire this time, a native French speaker like Peter. They didn’t exchange words, as he stepped aside and let us enter. Once inside, the colors gripped us both. “Hal is waiting,” he said.
I indulged in the blood of the donor without addressing him. He didn’t attempt to speak to me either, and simply pulled down his collar to reveal his neon skin. The colors vibrated like waves of light through a prism, each shade of the spectrum splitting and multiplying into a thousand more. The color consumed me and I wasted no time sinking my teeth into his pulsing neck. I drew the blood up into me, the first taste of which made me intoxicated almost immediately. My head grew fuzzy, and my hardened skin softened, as every muscle beneath released itself, though my senses fired sharper than ever. We dropped back on the mattress together and I drained him until he was out. When I retracted my fangs, I noticed the lingering flavor and marked its sweetness. Muriel’s blood didn’t taste quite as sugary.
I looked around the den. Several vampires indulged, drinking their fill before getting up and abandoning their donor. Few exchanged words, the donors unfazed by the vampires sucking on their necks. Some donors lay on recliners, hooked up to an intravenous that sucked the blood from them and up through a whole overhead. I pictured the cabin above, filled with a pool of blood in which the Empress could bathe. I doubted she visited the den. She’d have donors brought to her, and probably ones that were reserved for her alone.
“Are you finished?” I hadn’t expected Hal’s voice to be so gravelly.
“Yes,” I said.
“Because I’m ready to serve you again if you want,” he said.
“I’m satisfied,” I said. “Don’t you need to feed anyhow? To replenish?”
I don’t know why I was concerned. I didn’t care for him, or for the sacrifice he made. Despite his magnificent colors, I found nothing appealing about him. He seemed cardboard, almost one-dimensional.
“I require little food,” he said. “My body regenerates efficiently.”
He spoke the phrase like a robot and I wondered if he wasn’t under some kind of influence.
“Are you well kept where you stay?” I asked.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“Do they take care of you here?”
“Yes, they maintain us,” he said. “But we’re built for this.”
I didn’t know if he
meant built to feed vampires, or built to live on this ship. I can’t say why our conversation was off-putting, but Hal seemed socially inept, unemotional and dry. He was a bit of a drone.
“Are you finished, Evelina?” Peter said. He’d been feeding on a girl who radiated brighter than an indigo artichoke flower in bloom.
I got up without saying good-bye to Hal. “See you soon,” he said after I’d turned my back on him.
I followed Peter down to steerage, both of us lapped in the high of our feedings. I was mindful of where he was taking me but I didn’t care, and when we came into the ring from the mezzanine above, I leaned over to watch the battle in progress. There were fewer spectators but their energy was electric, and I gave in to the chaos. I didn’t try to control the orchestra of frequencies, letting each one fire me up.
“She is about to finish her,” Peter whispered.
I looked down into the ring, hanging from the railings with the others. The vampire who’d paid me a visit was there—Mindiss—and she had her opponent by the hair, stringing her up several feet off the deck. Once I picked out her frequency, it dominated the ring. I couldn’t hear the other vampire, even as she struggled to free herself from her clutches. She flailed her arms over her head, trying to scratch Mindiss with her talons, but my adversary had her opponent right where she wanted her, and called to the crowd for their support. The vampires cheered her on, yelling for the transplant.
“Yízhí,” they shouted in unison.
“What’s that,” I shouted to Peter.
He gestured for me to keep watching.
Mindiss turned in a circle with her opponent, holding her up like a doll by the hair, and searched the crowd of vampires. When she saw me, we locked eyes and she smiled. She ignored her victim’s glares and hisses, yanking her up an inch or two higher, and then stabbed the talons of her free hand into the vampire’s chest, pushing in her nails to penetrate the hard skin like a fork through creamy cheese.
The victim tossed her head back and laughed. I thought she would’ve screamed in pain, but the torture seemed nothing to her. She hissed again and then looked down at Mindiss. “Are you sure you want this heart?” She asked. “I don’t think you’re ready for it.” She laughed and tossed her head from side to side like a madwoman. “It yields the blackest black that black can be—your black magic is nothing compared to its sorcery. You will fry for this,” she said.
The Journal of Vincent Du Maurier Trilogy (Books 1, 2, 3) Page 33