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

by K. P. Ambroziak

  Muriel popped her head out and beckoned me to her. Veor stood in my way until she reached out and touched him gently on the arm and said, “Hona tir lotat.”

  He yielded to her touch, but sneered at me as I went in.

  Her cabin was tidy, though clothes were strewn about and cosmetics open on her dressing table. By the look of her cabin, as with most of the nicer ones, you wouldn’t think you were locked in a giant metal can. She had a small rug on her deck in the center, and a larger tapestry close to her bed. Like Vincent, she had a double berth that could easily sleep two and I wondered if Veor paid her visits at night. I hadn’t doubted a vampire and a human could love one another. I could have easily shared my life—and my bed—with my vampire.

  “Evelina,” Peter said. “Muriel doesn’t have long.”

  “Come, Evelina,” Muriel said. “I have time for a quick feeding.” Peter left us, telling me he’d wait for me outside. I didn’t envy him keeping company with Veor. Muriel sat on the edge of the large berth and pulled up the sleeve of her sweater. She let me bite into the groove on the inside of her elbow, and I felt as though I’d barely had a taste when she touched my head and whispered I had to stop.

  “I’m feeding another soon,” she said.

  “Who else shares you?”

  She smiled and said, “We don’t feed and tell.” She pulled her sleeve down and tapped the back of my hand. “I promise to come to you before you go into the ring.”

  I’d forgotten about my wretched fight with the Fangool. It seemed irrelevant with all the other demands on me.

  “Tell me what’s wrong,” she said. “I can see you’re upset.”

  I don’t know how she could tell anything from looking at me. My face was stony and cold, a mask of ease and unfeeling.

  “I saw the child,” I said.

  She gasped and brought her hand to her mouth. “How?”

  “The Empress brought her to me,” she said. “She’s selling her to another unless I give her something she wants.” I don’t know why I confessed my troubles to Muriel so easily, but she seemed a perfect priest and I the needy penitent.

  “She can’t,” she said. “She mustn’t.” My words stung and she claimed all the fear and trepidation for my child that I would’ve if I were human. “You must tell Vincent,” she said.

  “What will he care?”

  “Believe me, Evelina,” she said. “He cares more than you know.”

  I believed her, though I didn’t understand it. I thought he’d given up the dream of my child’s salvation when he’d lost me.

  “I’ll tell him,” I said.

  She inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself. “I hate to send you away,” she said. “But you must go see him now—tell him immediately.”

  Though I was desperate for another shot of serum, the small high her blood gave me would satisfy me for several hours. But I didn’t forget why I’d come and said, “Forgive me for losing control earlier.”

  She brushed it off, waving her hand in the air. “It’s forgotten,” she said. “I understand your need more than you know, and Veor was there to save me.”

  Her words cut, as I remembered the vision of the vampire swooping down and saving the girl from her monstrous attacker—I regretted those days deeply.

  I insisted Peter let me go to Vincent’s cabin alone. “I have to speak with him about something,” I said.

  “I know,” he said. “But you don’t have long. The Empress expects you to meet Mindiss in the ring before dawn.”

  “What is her deal?” I asked. “Why is she on the ship if she poses such a threat to my maker.”

  “She doesn’t pose the threat,” he said. “You do—but we can’t talk here.” He looked behind him. “I promise to come to your compartment after you’ve seen Vincent, okay?”

  Peter studied me with the intensity I’d come to know from him. He smiled and touched my cheek. “Ah, I see what I’ve done,” he said. “Fear not, Evelina. You’ll figure this out.”

  “Figure what out?”

  “How to kill her.”

  He left me then, and I headed in the opposite direction, following the sparrow’s call. Vincent was in his cabin. Guided by his frequency, I let myself float to its rhythm as though it were the only sound on the ship. I still hadn’t mastered my gift for collecting and synching up signals, but I was better at only hearing the ones I chose to hear. As his call grew louder, the loop gained momentum and soon I thought I could hear two sparrows. Muriel’s small blood offering sat in my stomach like a stone, keeping company with my pit of fiery rage. I seethed, as I thought of the match with Mindiss, and my maker’s treatment of me. She was filled with tricks and lies. I would never betray Vincent, and she was foolish to believe so. I would tell him everything as soon as I was alone with him. I would warn him she wanted his journal, and he’d know why she wanted it, why she thought it so valuable.

  Several vampires came toward me from the other end of the passageway. They’d been talking about an incident whereby several men went overboard, but stopped speaking when they saw me. They didn’t know I’d heard their ramblings since the beginning. I didn’t care for the story of the men and how they were lost at sea. I turned away from the vampires, snubbing them as they passed me. I’m certain one of them hissed as soon as he was out of my reach.

  When I finally entered Vincent’s passageway, I stalled, making certain he was alone. I didn’t hear his voice or another’s until I was just outside his door and poised to rap on the metal. The low murmur of a whisper stopped me, and I closed my eyes. “Please make me yours,” she said. “Please drink from me.” It was the same small voice that mocked my own. It was Vincent’s other donor, Gia, the one Muriel told me about.

  I stood on the cusp of terror and hatred, wanting to throttle the girl inside but fearful to actually see her face. My fingertips burned more fiercely than ever, and I clenched my fists, despite my control. I swayed back and forth, deliberating what to do. Whether I waited outside for her to leave or entered his cabin to witness their embrace, I was bound to look at her face. I remained undecided until I heard the thing I dreaded most to hear, “Let me call you Evelina.” Vincent’s voice was plain, clear and uncensored, as he seduced the girl inside.

  Overcome with rage, I lost all self-control and abandoned my reason, letting the fierce and instinctual modes of being take over. I turned an irrational creature with one goal in mind—to kill the girl in my beloved’s arms. I don’t remember throwing open the door, rushing in-between them, tearing her from his embrace and throwing her down on the deck. I don’t recollect pulling her up by the hair, so that she had to stand on tiptoes to keep her roots from being torn out. I don’t recall her scream of terror or that I recognized her as the mute girl who’d once bathed me and dressed me and placed me in front of the glass wall. I don’t remember my talons ripping through my marbleized fingertips, sharp and ready to strike. I don’t recollect my piercing her neck with the tips of my new weapons and driving their sharp points into her jugular. I don’t remember her blood spilling out like the spout of a geyser, and her dropping to the deck dead within an instant. But I can’t forget his face—a look that was between pride and horror. He was not a father admiring a child balanced on a bicycle; rather a father facing a son who had killed his cherished daughter.

  “What have you done,” he said, scowling at me anew. “You must go. Now.” He didn’t hold back his anger with the last command and pushed me toward the door. “Go.”

  I left my beloved alone to mourn the deed I’d done. My rage fueled me, as I believed he regretted the girl for whom he’d grown so fond—the taste with which he’d replaced mine. I didn’t know I’d broken the greatest commandment of Empress Cixi’s ship: Vampires shall not kill donors.

  I rushed through the passageway, blindly feeling my way through the maze of corridors, listening for sounds I recognized. I couldn’t hear anything, and I could barely concentrate on the simple task of getting back to my own compartment.
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br />   I traveled down steps and ladders, lower into the bowels of the ship, but I didn’t actually know where I was going. I couldn’t know that my first human kill would cause a grief that was so overwhelming it’d fuel my rage and destroy my ability to reason for a time. Lost in the chaos, it felt like the ship’s passageways were shrinking, like the metal bulkheads were closing in no matter which way I headed.

  Perhaps I was overcome with sadness at my master’s anger. Perhaps his look of disappointment ruined me forever, and I’d never recover. Perhaps I’d lost him for good. He’d never forgive me for taking his donor a second time. First me, and now Gia. He’d never forgive me. The wretched corners of my eyes burned with the pain of hardened tears. My head spun, as I ran faster and farther away from the scene of my crime. I didn’t stop until I’d passed the engine room, and welcomed my first coherent sound—the frequency of the dull drone of bees. The solitaire player barely looked up at me, as I flew past him and into the small lane of hidden compartments where I picked up Peter’s signal, and clung to it.

  I waited outside his compartment since he wasn’t alone. When I heard Youlan speak, I stepped away. I tucked into a small recess, letting their voices come to me.

  “She chose,” she said. “She asked for you.”

  “Why?” He asked.

  “She thinks you’re faithful,” she said. “Besides, you’re weak.”

  “Ah, I see,” he said. “You must be off. I have a visitor.”

  With that, Youlan left Peter and I tried to pick up her signal as she passed by, but she was too swift, and once again I was met with silence.

  Peter used his gift to pierce my mind with his dovelike coo, commandeering my brain and drawing me out. “There you are,” he said when I stepped out of the alcove. “Come.” He ushered me into his compartment and closed the door.

  I happened to notice the bible open on his small ledge with the rosary lying between its pages. I glanced at it but couldn’t mark the verse since the script wasn’t Italian.

  “What did you hear?” He asked.

  I think it was difficult for him to know what I’d heard since it wasn’t clear to me. He read the bits of conversation in my mind, but my kill was the more dominant group of thoughts. “Oh my,” he said. “I see. Sit.”

  I obeyed and sat stony face on his stool. He touched his hand to my cheek and guided my eyes to meet his. He looked at me more seriously than ever and said, “I knew this day would come. It was inevitable. We kill because we have to, Evelina, not because we are evil creatures. Your act was one of necessity, just as a tiger kills in the wild, so too is it your nature to kill. But God forgives you for it. He knows we’re susceptible to certain weaknesses.”

  I stared at him blankly, unable to comprehend a word he said.

  “You will gain greater control over your anger, but for now it has served you well.”

  “I don’t know what I’ve done,” I said.

  He smiled his lovely smile. “Yes, you do.”

  I looked away and thought of Vincent and the girl in the embrace that was once mine.

  “Such a shame,” Peter said. “A waste of perfectly good blood.”

  I scowled at him, letting my fangs drop.

  “Don’t turn on me, Evelina,” he said. “I may be your best friend at the moment—ah, let me see.” He reached for my bloody hands. I hadn’t noticed the dried blood until then, caked and crusting on my smooth skin like chipped and rusted paint. “They’ve arrived,” he said, studying my hands. He examined the tips of my fingers, looking at the slits beneath the nails, the openings from where my talons had shot out. “And they couldn’t have come at a better time.”

  I knew I’d have talons eventually, but I didn’t think their arrival was such a big deal.

  “Oh, Evelina,” he said. “Without these you wouldn’t stand a chance in the ring. Thank God, you’ve unleashed them. Come, show me them.”

  I held my hands out and looked at my nail beds but nothing happened. I tried wiggling my fingertips, and then shaking my hands, but I couldn’t unlock my talons. I looked up at Peter. “Perhaps you need to motivate them,” he said. “Picture the scene again. Remember the kill.” I stared at him blankly. “The girl in Vincent’s cabin. What did she look like?” I still didn’t know what he meant, not realizing I’d blocked it out completely. “Oh my,” Peter said. “Well it’s there. I can see it.”

  Peter stood me up and faced me. He put his hands on my temples and closed his eyes. I followed and closed mine, letting my head fall forward. “Concentrate,” he whispered. He moved one of his hands to my forehead and pressed his palm against it. I heard his frequency and then the sparrow, as if it were in the room with me and I opened my eyes with a gasp. “No,” he said. “Concentrate.”

  I closed my eyes again and settled into his touch. I felt the weight of his stony hand against my skin, pressing into my head almost as if pushing through it. I didn’t feel pain or anger or even fear, I simply felt alive in the present moment, as though the connection between Peter and me was all that mattered. It felt like we were suspended in that state forever, until I saw it—all of it. The girl’s bloodied throat, her collapse on the deck, my beloved’s look of horror, his smile, and my new hands with long sharp talons that dripped with her blood. I smelled the blood now, as I recalled the entire scene. My heart pounded in my chest, as I relived my first kill, stimulated all over again. My fingers burned, like a current ran through the tips.

  “Open your eyes and see,” Peter whispered.

  I looked down at my hands and saw the extensions of my already long fingers. My nail beds looked the same but lengthy—more lengthy than before—and the small talons took the curve of my nails, only more pointy, and went several inches beyond my original nails.

  “They look sharp,” I said.

  “Sharp enough,” Peter said with his usual smile. “This is what we’ve been waiting for. He obviously found a way to coax them out.”

  I asked him who, but I knew.

  “Yes,” he said. “You know who.”

  He told me to wash the blood in the sink, and I admired my new weapons again as I bathed them in the cold water. It would’ve seemed strange to have such a feral body part when I was human to be sure, but as I gazed at my talons, I felt closer to my beloved than before, my body making itself like his.

  “You’ll have to learn to control them,” Peter said. “They’re still weak at the moment, and unruly. They may not appear when you need them, so you have to discover what makes them itch, what brings them out, until they eventually come out without your needing to think about it.”

  “You said I’ll need them to beat Mindiss,” I said.

  “You will,” he said. “You’ll need all your gifts.” He tapped my forehead gently, and I assumed he was referring to my gift of satellite. “Ah,” he said. “You know how to conquer fear, Evelina. Don’t let it get a foothold again.”

  I didn’t realize I was fearful, but I suppose he could see things I didn’t.

  “We don’t have long,” Peter said. “They’re on their way.”

  “Who—”

  “Never mind,” he said. “Listen to me. You must control her frequency—the Fangool. You must find a way to make it bend to your will, just as I intercept yours and force you to obey. Can you do that?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “How do I know?”

  “You’ve got to feel it,” he said. “You’ve got to get inside of her, wear her like a second skin, know her mind before she does, see her moves before she makes them. Don’t let her dominate you, or distract you. Stay focused. Forget your kill, forget Vincent, forget the Empress. Just concentrate on your opponent. Remember when I explained how strong the vampire’s mind is, and that not all of us take advantage of our gift?” I listened intently and nodded to assure him I recalled the wisdom. “Mindiss is ignorant. She only uses magic, never her mind to defeat an opponent. Don’t let her take your gaze, whatever you do.”

  Someone pounded on his d
oor, and then spun the wheel to open it.

  “It’s time,” he said. “Be strong now. You have all you need to do this—to defeat her.”

  Several vampires rushed in, pushing Peter aside. I didn’t recognize them, though they wore the Empress’s imperial dress and carried small daggers. I’d seen a few of these guards before, but mostly up on her level of the ship. They didn’t speak but led me out of the compartment, through the engine room and into the ring.

  I can’t recall much of the fight, though I know Mindiss dominated. She tossed me around the ring until I retched up stale blood, though I eventually gained the advantage. When she indulged in her praise a little too long, taking in the crowd’s cheers, I seized the opportunity. I was pinned on the deck beneath her boot, and they chanted transplant in all manner of languages, even mine. They called for her to rip out my heart, and so I was prepared to be hoisted up by the neck. But her ego got the better of her and she hesitated, which allowed me time to slip out from under her foothold just as I’d done with Huitzilli’s. Once I’d escaped, I floated higher than I did with the Hummingbird, using the sparrow’s frequency to buoy me up. I rose until my body hung in midair, impossible to catch. I was too quick, though she lunged at me.

  My action broke up her signal, as if the microphone were pulled away from the speakers, and I finally caught its essence, the raw and pure sound of her fingerprint. In that moment, I had her, able to control her frequency now. What was once a boisterous shriek became a hollow drip, like the sound of water leaking in a cave. The echo of the drip retreated, until all I heard was the lone sound of a clean drip. Plop—plop—plop. Because I’d reduced her sound to its finest element, I was able to do the same with her, which is why I could evade her with such dexterity. Mindiss couldn’t pull out my heart because she couldn’t catch me.

  I concentrated on the drip, making it bend to my will. Here and there, I dodged the Fangool from corner to corner, making her run around the ring like a raging cheetah chasing her own tail. I don’t know how long I dominated, but I do recall how I lost my advantage. When the drip faded and the screech of an angered simian came barreling into my mind, I lost my ability to hover and crashed to the deck. Sluggish once again, I no longer had the means of dodging my opponent and she wasted no time grabbing me by the throat and hoisting me up off the deck, my feet dangling well above the metal planks. She had no hair to pull me up with, but made do with my neck.