The screen door slammed shut behind her with an unsuspected crash. The wood frame snagged the end of her blanket as it bounced. Hathor’s feet tripped blindly on the steps. She felt her body pitch forward as if in slow motion. The blanket ripped from her grasp, falling off to the side.
"Georgie!" Hathor screamed desperately, as the sun fell onto her face. She could feel the rays burning her skin, penetrating her body as it was exposed to it. Hathor weakly hit the ground, rolling.
"Hathor?!" she heard her aunt screech in alarm. "Hathor what are you doing!"
Hathor’s body began to convulse. She waited for fire, waited for flames and torture. She could feel Georgia pulling her into her arms. The sun beat down on her flesh, warming it. Her aunt tried to shield the sun from her, covering Hathor with her body. She threw her wide-brimmed hat over Hathor’s face. The light trailed through the straw in small beads of concentrated energy.
Georgia’s body shook, powerless to help stop the onslaught of death. Fear and helplessness flowed through the old woman’s veins. Hathor’s pale skin became red, spreading with a burn all over her delicate features. The girl hollered out in pain.
"Help Servaes," Hathor groaned in desperation, as her world started to fade into a burning black. Her demonic eyes rolled back into her head, sinking with despair into her lids. With a last croaking whisper, she whispered fervently, "Promise me."
"Yes. Oh, Hathor," cried Georgia. Hathor’s body went limp, falling with the weighted mass of a corpse. Georgia struggled, her hands moving over her niece’s flesh to continue to block the sun. She was too late. The old woman cried out bitterly as she tried to gather the dead girl into her arms.
* * * *
Servaes opened his eyes with a piercing yell. He felt the sun on Hathor’s skin, burning her. He knew it was useless for her to try and help him. Now she was paying the price for her folly. He felt her mind reach out to him, crying to him in her pain. He felt her burning flesh as if it were his own. He couldn’t go to her, couldn’t answer her cry. His body was too weakened to push up. He lay as helpless as a babe in its cradle, unable to fight the flames as they licked around him. Then, he detected silence. Her mind closed completely. Her emotions stopped.
Tears found his eyes. He was too drained to move, lest he would have crawled out into the sun to join her. The tears wept over his face, falling back to his temples to dampen his hair. He knew he was dying too, decaying into the ashes of death. He lost his will to live. Without Hathor, he was nothing. He didn’t want to go on. Closing his eyes, he refused to fight any longer. He decided to let death have him.
"I love you, ma petite," his last breath hissed, as his body journeyed to join hers.
* * * *
Colors began to swirl in the darkness, faded at first, growing brighter as time ticked past. The image of the sun, bright and glorious, rose beneath the couple’s dead lids. The black bird from their dreams came to them, perching high on a tree limb in front of the sun. The bird seemed to smile at them, before squawking and taking again to flight. Once in the air, the bird became encased in stone, falling from the heavens in an ancient rune. The rune landed in the grass, breaking apart to nestle safely in softness.
* * * *
Georgia pulled her hat from Hathor’s face. She rocked her niece in her arms, affectionately touching the pale beauty of her skin. The old woman wept loudly, shouting her pain on a wail to the sky. Her body shook with a violent force, her tears streamed over her face.
Shaking her head in her grief, she felt Hathor’s chilled skin begin to heat. With a loud sniff, her eyes shot to her niece’s face. The pale features warmed from the cold blue of the dead to a soft glowing orange. The detection of it was faint at first, swirling over the tip of her nose. Georgia blinked to see if it was real. Slowly the vampiress’ blue lips began to fill with red, painted as if by an artist’s brush.
Hathor gasped. Her back arched off the ground and pulled away from her aunt’s hands. Her eyes shot open, the blue depths filling with vibrant spring-like colors that shot out of her. A light appeared around her body, a soft barely detectable glow. Her voice spilled from her throat in a high pitch wheeze. And then she took breath.
Falling to the earth, she turned her gaze to Georgia. Her eyes glowed like the undead, but her skin was the color of life. The sun shot through her flesh, surging with shaking energy through her body, shooting her like a ray of life with its warmth. Hathor again surged up, bucking violently from the ground before falling with visible fatigue to the soft grass. Her eyes cleared. She looked up at the bright fall sky, unseasonably warm.
Confusion and surprise passed over her face. Glancing at Georgia in wide-eyed wonder, she saw the wrinkled face beam with teary pleasure.
"Servaes," Hathor gasped suddenly. She shot up from her back, running with swiftness into the house. Georgia was right behind her. Hathor went to the coffin, pulling off the blankets.
"Wait, Hathor. What if you kill him? He might not react to the sun the same way." Georgia hesitated in her efforts to help. Gulping, she studied the revived girl.
"I have to try," Hathor returned desperately. "Already he is dying. I must do something."
Closing her eyes, a prayer on her trembling lips, Hathor threw back the lid. Servaes’ pale face was hit with the rays of the sun filtering in through the drapes. He didn’t move.
"Help me get him outside," Hathor entreated. Her hands were instantly on his decaying masculine form. His skin was cold. "We must get him into the sun."
Georgia had her reservations, but helped Hathor pull him out. Hathor’s limbs surged with force, and she lifted him over her shoulder without Georgia’s assistance. She didn’t have time to wonder at her great strength as she rushed him out the back door. Hitting the bright pull of the sun, she eased him onto his back. His pale skin was encased in the light. For a moment, nothing happened.
Hathor fell to her knees, mumbling frantic pleas, words of love and encouragement to him. She grabbed his face willing his eyes to open as hers had.
"Servaes, wake up. Wake up, Servaes. Open your eyes. Open your eyes!" Hathor shook him violently. "Look at me, damn you!"
"Ah!" Servaes gasped. His eyes burst with the light. His body writhed and moaned with pain. Hathor watched, a shiver running up her spine. She glanced to Georgia horrified. The woman ran to her, pulling her back from the twisting and writhing being.
His hand reached out grasping for a hold in the air. His body trembled violently with the assault of the daylight. His flesh appeared to pull and melt around him, but didn’t drip from his bones. Hathor listened to his tortured screams, paralyzed with fear. Desperation shone on her features.
"Servaes!" she screamed. Her hands went to reach for him, searching blindly through tears. "What have I done?"
A trail of blood came from his pale lips, moving down over the side of his smooth jaw. Then his screams stopped. His body drooped. When he didn’t move, Hathor crawled slowly forward. She reached out a finger, probing his body. It didn’t move. Feeling his chest, she couldn’t detect a heartbeat. Her own heart raced frantically out of control.
Her tears dripped from her eyes to his face, spilling from her troubled gaze to his cheeks. Her love for him tore throughout her body in heart-wrenching surety. Leaning to him, she pressed her quivering lips to his. Closing her eyes, she cried against him, not moving away.
Servaes’ mouth grew warm beneath her touch. Drawing back, she waited in wonderment as his features filled with color. His skin shaded with a bronze beauty. His lips darkened, his eyelids faded to a tired purple. When his eyes opened, slowly blinking in the bright light, Hathor saw the soft brown orbs of a man she had seen in a king’s garden long ago.
"Servaes," she gasped in wonderment. The whisper was barely audible. Transfixed in her daze, she couldn’t move, only stare.
Georgia gasped and sniffed behind them. Her fingers met with stone. Glancing down, she picked up two pieces of a broken rune.
The breeze was light and wa
rm as it caressed over their skin. The ground moved with the rustling of fallen leaves. Hathor shivered, afraid that she was dreaming, afraid that if she touched him he would disappear into thin air.
Slowly his eyes cleared, searching the sky as he slowly sat up from the ground. The sun shone over him like a baptism to his new birth. He looked around in quiet wonderment, his eyes finally landed on Hathor’s rosy cheeks and puffy eyes. First the brown depths smiled at her, followed by the slow curl of his darkened lips. As the smile grew, so did the flash of his teeth, fangless.
Hathor shook her head, unable to believe her eyes. Her breath came in a pant. Tears blurred her vision. Slowly, she lifted her hand. She reached through the air for him. His warm palm met hers, caressed by light. Feeling that he was real, her shoulders slumped in relief, and she cried harder.
Hathor fell forward into his awaiting arms, weeping joy and love against his broad chest. Her quaking fingers moved sightlessly over his hair, his back, feeling him. She couldn’t believe he was alive.
Pulling back happily, she whispered, "How?"
"I do not know," he murmured, taking in her beauty outlined by the sun he hadn’t seen for centuries. Her eyes flashed with the power he had given her, but they were absent of the curse of death.
"Are we human?" she asked in awe. "Are we free?"
"I do not know," he said again. For the time, he didn’t care. He leaned forward, pulling her mouth to his. Hathor moaned in happy contentment. She didn’t care either. He was alive and in her arms. Their love was all that mattered. Kissing her thoroughly, he didn’t want to let her go.
"Praise the Lord!" shouted Georgia, clapping her hands in excitement. She clutched the rune pieces in her hand.
A loud growl sounded around them. Hathor pulled back in shock, looking with wide-eyes at Servaes. His smile faded to be replaced by concern. The growl sounded again low and insistent.
"What?" Hathor began, confused. Apprehension again started to surround her features, lining the sides of her eyes.
Servaes looked down, grabbing his gut with a look of concern.
"I know what that is," beamed Georgia, getting to her feet. She put the broken rune in her pocket, intent on putting it away for safe keeping. The old woman chuckled gleefully. Clapping her hands, she danced towards the house. "I’ll be in the kitchen cooking."
"Cooking?" Hathor mouthed, confused, never realizing Georgia had the rune or that there even was one.
Again the growl sounded. Only this time if came from within Hathor. She began to laugh. Servaes eyed her as if she were insane.
"It’s your stomach," she whispered, moving to kiss him lightly. She laughed against his mouth. "I suppose it has been a long time since you have eaten."
As if to prove her words, his stomach gurgled again. Servaes pressed his hand to his midsection as it twitched. A smirk found his features. He too began to laugh.
"You don’t want blood, do you?" she asked.
"No, the craving is gone," he admitted. "I’m not sure what I want."
Hathor laughed, falling onto her back as he tackled her playfully to the ground. His eyes soaked in everything about her -- her face, her warm eyes, her happy smile. And all of it was bright and beautiful and inviting. It was a balm to his soul. Rolling on his back, he pulled her next to him to stare into the blue cloudless sky.
"I lied," he said seriously. Hathor stiffened. "I do know what I want."
Hathor giggled, relaxing next to him. His eyes studied the trees weaving in the soft morning air. Kissing his cheek, she asked, "What? I am sure Georgia will cook you anything you ask for."
"All I want is you," he murmured next to her hair. Their stomachs growled again, reverberating with their blissful laughter.
* * * *
Servaes refused to go indoors, drawing a new life basking in the sun. Georgia made quick sandwiches with the promise of a great feast that evening to celebrate. Servaes didn’t care, relishing each bite like a child. Everything was so new to him -- the play of light on his hands, the look of the brightly changing leaves as they danced on the trees in spotted beauty. Hathor watched him, smiling like a fool at each of his discoveries.
After they ate, Servaes led Hathor over the gardens in the direction of the bench, where they had talked for the first time. Plucking up an orange fall leaf, he handed it to her. Hathor pressed it to her nose like a flower, delighting in the smell of fall.
As they strolled, Hathor told him of the mysterious stranger that saved them and of all that he said to her. The leaf twirled thoughtfully in her fingers as she spoke. Weakly, she added, "I felt them dying. He stayed true to his word. Ginger and the others are gone."
"I felt it, too. I can still feel it," he admitted. "And this man said he was your great-grandfather?"
"Yes," Hathor said, hugging herself to his strong arm. Even in the grim light of the discussion of death, she couldn’t hide her joy. Neither could Servaes. It shone from the inviting, careless depths of his eyes. His handsome face took her breath away as she looked at him. He looked like the handsome stranger who led her through the king’s garden, making her fall in love with him. Only it was better now, because she was given the best of both men--the human and the vampire. "Who do you think it was?"
"I do not know. The only vampire I could call grandfather would be Vladamir, the one who made Jirí. But he has been asleep for centuries. I have never even met him. It is said he will never wake up. The longer they sleep, the less likely it is they will rise." Servaes sighed, turning serious. None of it made sense, yet here he was -- in daylight.
"Maybe we will never know," admitted Hathor. They trailed silently over the grass to the cobblestone path. As they neared the fountain, she said, "I felt something else. I know what you did for my aunt. I want to thank you. I didn’t even know she was sick."
Servaes nodded but didn’t respond. He led her to the bench by the fountain. Sitting her in the shade, he came next to her. He watched Hathor’s face thoughtfully. His eyes almost looked frightened as he studied her.
"What is it?" she asked, alarmed. "Do we need to get you inside?"
"I want to ask --" he began. Swallowing nervously, he blurted, "Marry me."
"What?" Hathor gasped. It was the last thing she suspected. In her surprise, she bumped her elbow on the stone edge of the bench, cutting it open. "Ouch."
"Here let me see," Servaes tenderly leaned over her, his long hair falling over her shoulders as he pulled her elbow up. The small wound healed and faded. Her round eyes widened in amazement. His mouth close to her cheek, he kept his eyes turned down as he nuzzled against her face. Whispering, he asked, "Well?"
"Our souls are already married," she murmured, breathing in the smell of him. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed with the power of her feelings.
"I would have you belong to me completely," he whispered. His eyes finally swept up to gaze into hers.
"Yes, of course I’ll marry you, Servaes." Hathor beamed prettily. Her eyes glowed with the light of a woman in love. They didn’t think of the vampire council, the elders, or of the threat they posed to the newly turned couple. As he leaned in to kiss her, she confessed into his mouth, "But I already belong to you completely."
Chapter Twenty Five
Island of Delos, Cyclades
Jirí faced the forbidding council of tribal leaders. Their pale faces glittered with the orange of the firelight. Theophania lounged over her chair, the metal of her bodice barely hiding her womanly charms. Chara sat in more lady-like repose, her risqué black dress clinging to her slender white form. Andrei busied himself looking at Chara’s cleavage, unabashed. Pietro stared at his feet, ignoring them all. Amon lifted his chin regally with feigned boredom. Vishnu matched his dark look. And Ragnhild scratched his nails absently into his arm, watching the little scratches heal behind the wounds he inflicted.
With a sigh, Amon finally decreed, "He is still technically one of us. We must leave him be."
"But Servaes is like a mortal now," Vishnu s
aid. "He walks with the day. And he knows our secrets."
"Then he is mortal," stressed Theophania. "Vampires cannot walk in day. He has lost the dark gift."
Jirí said nothing, having told what he knew.
"If he is mortal," Pietro said, drawing the eyes of the council. He continued to stare at the floor in dejection. It was one of the rare times the vampire spoke freely at a meeting in centuries. "Then we shall leave him be. He will be dead after a mortal’s life, but a blink of the eyes to us."
"I agree," Chara said. "None of us wish to kill him. I say we leave him unless he poses a threat to us."
"Like all things, the evidence will be put down only in the sacred scrolls, hidden safely in the depths of the earth. My people, the tribe of the Vrykolatios will guard the secret. No others will know of it. If it were found out that a vampire has turned human, there would be chaos. Nothing will be made known until it is learned how it was done."
"Agreed," the tribal leaders acknowledge in unison.
"Fine," Theophania said. "Now, what of this other business in London?"
"Twenty-three dead," Jirí stated. "Only the one named Vincent survived."
"Was it Servaes?" Amon asked.
"No," Jirí stated with smooth self-assurance. "I spoke with Vincent. The others tried to kill Servaes and Hathor. Naturally, he claims to have nothing to do with it. He claims he is innocent."
Jirí smiled wryly. Andrei snorted.
"They were tied to the ground by stakes that whole night," Jirí continued. "Being changed as they are, they escaped and were not harmed by the sunlight."
"Then revenge shall not be taken against Vincent for this," Theophania mused, "being as his crimes were against blood beings."
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