Ofelia (The Book of Davoth 1)

by Martyn Stanley

  Ofelia sighed. ‘The common way to kill a vampire is to kill the heart. Maybe that’s something to do with it? I don’t know about the brain. Maybe it’s so you can control the Paradox, or maybe it’s so it can control you? I don’t know the answer to that. Am I me? Or did I die in 1452? And I just think I’m me?’

  Julia leaned back in her chair now. ‘That’s a tough one. I don’t know if there’s any way of telling. Assuming you’re right and the Paradox has some sort of intelligence... Does it matter though? If you think you’re you, then surely that’s enough? For all intent and purposes, aside from being cold and sensitive to sunlight, and having to feed on blood... You seem very healthy and very alive, especially for someone born in the fourteen hundreds. If I hadn’t seen what I’ve seen, I wouldn’t believe it. You know people would pay millions for what you have. It could-’

  ‘I know! People used to pay a fortune to receive what they called “The Gift”. I can’t make people vampires though, I don’t know how.’

  Julia closed down the images and span her chair to face Ofelia. ‘Thank you for letting me do this. I hope you found it interesting too. I’ll be honest, if you ever did find out how to make a person a vampire - I’d be interested. I’ve seen enough death and suffering, I’d see avoiding the sunlight and feeding as a price worth paying.’

  Ofelia frowned. ‘And the loneliness? Watching everyone you love grow old and die? Would this be a price worth paying?’

  Julia looked sad now and reached up to wipe a solitary tear from the corner of her eye. ‘I’d ask you to turn my husband, Mike, first. He’s got... He’s got cancer. It started in his bowel, but now it’s spread. He’s been told he has less than two years. I think being infected with the Immortal Paradox could save him. He’s bitter about his illness. He always said he wanted to live forever...’

  Ofelia grabbed her hand and squeezed gently. ‘I’m sorry. If I find a way, you’ll be the first to hear about it.’

  The meeting ended there. Doctor Sterling had allocated a lot more time to Ofelia than she should have. As Ofelia stood to leave, she told Julia that she’d been born Ilona. Molly was waiting in the cafe. She’d been poised to receive a message that Ofelia was being kept in. Julia lied, telling Molly the procedure had worked well, and she hoped it had cured the problem. Three people knew Ofelia’s secret now. She’d been much more careful in Romania. There were a select, small group of people who’d known. Now things were starting to feel risky. What would happen if the ‘wrong’ people found out, she wasn’t sure. It was perfectly possible that there were no secret government labs where she’d be held prisoner and experimented on. But it was also plausible that there were. She didn’t particularly want to find out either way. If it became common knowledge that she was a vampire, the media might get wind of it. Being splashed all over the media was not an appealing thought.

  Chapter 13 - A Night Feed

  By the time Molly had driven back to Harper House Ofelia was feeling tired. She also felt an emotional burden had been somewhat lifted. Sharing her secret had helped to make her feel less isolated, but also a little more vulnerable? She recalled being told, ‘If three people know a secret, it can still be a secret. Any more and it can’t be.’ She was at three people.

  Tom, the care worker she’d seen earlier in the week had already cooked a basic tea by the time they got back. Ofelia ate it, but repeated her plea to Molly about cooking a decent meal and Molly agreed to get her ingredients the next day. Ofelia didn’t socialize that evening, she went to bed early, read, and was asleep by nine.

  ***

  At around midnight, Ofelia woke up - her whole body burning. Her veins felt like they were on fire and she had a piercing headache. Her fangs were already out when she awoke. She was so thirsty... so, so thirsty. Sense and rationality had abandoned her. Barely conscious, the Immortal Paradox pulled her strings, controlling her like a marionette. She resisted, but it was futile. Before she knew what was happening, she was out of bed and creeping silently through the huge, dark house. Not even a glint of moonlight broke through the rain-splattered windows. She was at the top landing. Ofelia felt herself gazing at the door at the opposite end of the hall and licking her lips. Moving so silently she barely displaced the air, Ofelia made her way to the door. At one point she heard the faintest whisper of a floorboard starting to creak and moved her foot before transferring her weight. The door started a whisper of a grind as she opened it, so she pulled the door up and opened it the rest of the way without making a sound. It was Stoney’s room. He was still in his uniform, lying fully-clothed on his bed with his smart phone in his hand, probably fallen asleep playing a game or browsing social media. Ever likely he always looked so tired in the mornings, Ofelia mused to herself. She knew where she was going and what she was doing, but she couldn’t stop herself. She closed the door, approached and knelt by the low bed. He was still wearing his headphones, connected to the phone, but they didn’t get in the way. She brushed his matted hair out of the way with her hand and lowered her fangs to his jugular. He stirred for a moment, as he felt her breath on his face, but before he could react - she sunk her pointed teeth into his neck. The effects were immediate, any tension in his body melted away as the sedative effect kicked in. She drank deeply, savouring the rich, salty, bloody flavour. She drank and drank, lapping and sucking at the wound. All the while Ofelia fought an inner conflict. The euphoria at quenching her thirst and the sweet sensation of tasting the flavour she craved, against the horror at what she was doing and her desperate, burning desire to stop and apologise, or something.

  In time she’d satisfied herself again. She stopped as soon as was able. She’d fed so hungrily and messily, she’d left Stoney’s shirt and sheets besmirched by specks of crimson. If she’d had more control, she’d have been careful. It had to be a further side effect of the blood exchange procedure. One thing was certain - she could not afford to be overcome by the craving at school. She spat on her thumb and rubbed it into the wounds, sealing them and hiding the scars, all the while muttering, ‘Sorry Stoney, I’m so sorry,’ under her breath.

  That done, she left and returned to her own room. From that point onwards she slept well, feeling satisfied, but disturbed and horrified at what she’d done.

  ***

  Ofelia was already at the breakfast table in the morning when Stoney came down with an armful of sheets for washing. She wasn’t wearing her school uniform. Stoney looked tired and pale. ‘Hey Offers. You not going to sleep?’

  She frowned at him. ‘Sleep?’

  ‘Erm, school, I meant school.’ Stoney yawned.

  ‘No, I told Tom I’m too tired after yesterday. He agreed I could have another day off. What happened?’

  Ofelia held her breath. What would Stoney think had happened?

  She needn’t have worried. Stoney shrugged and frowned. ‘Must’ve had a night nosebleed, gone all over my bloody shirt and sheets. Funny, haven’t had one in years.’

  Ofelia offered him a sympathetic smile. ‘Hey. Leave your stuff with me. I’m off today. I’ll get it all washed for you. I’m making goulash tonight. You go freshen up and get ready.’

  Relief washed over Stoney’s face. ‘Ah, cheers Offers! That’d be awesome.’

  She waved a hand. ‘It’s nothing. You know, you look tired. I think you need to get more sleep.’

  He shook his head. ‘I can never get to sleep. Always got too much on my mind.’

  Ofelia paused, thought for a moment, then raised a finger. ‘Tonight, you have early night. I have idea to help you sleep.’

  ‘Can’t hurt to try?’ agreed Stoney. He dropped his washing on the floor, then scuttled upstairs to get ready for school. Lucy and Kerry were already down. They’d had breakfast and were sitting in the living room, watching cartoons.

  Soon, Molly had set off for school with Stoney, Lucy and Kerry. As soon as they’d gone, Ofelia started loading Stoney’s washing. When Molly got back, she’d been to the supermarket and bought diced beef and the
rest of the required ingredients for Ofelia’s meal. At around lunchtime Rita called around to check on her. They sat in the living room, Rita with a freshly brewed cup of tea and Ofelia, with her now familiar black coffee. Rita had her file on her knee and opened it, then sipped her tea. ‘Now, Ofelia. How was yesterday? I’m told the procedure went well.’

  Ofelia bit her lip and avoided eye contact. ‘Yes, the doctor think so.’

  Rita leaned closer, ‘Was something wrong? What-’

  ‘It was uncomfortable. She think it worked, but if it doesn’t work - I don’t want to go through it again. I’m fine now, but I felt ill when they were doing it. It’s not nice procedure.’

  Rita nodded and scribbled something in the file. ‘Right. Good, okay. Now you remember Victor? He’s asked me if I can arrange for him to foster you and he’s applied to become an approved adopter. How do you feel about that? Don’t you think it’s good news?’

  Ofelia tried hard to hide her expression. She didn’t know what she felt about this, part of her wanted to feel relief, but part of her felt fear and apprehension. ‘I don’t know. He seems nice, but I don’t know him. Can I meet him again? I want to spend some time just with Victor.’

  She hoped she’d phrased it in a way, which didn’t make it made it seem like an odd request. Rita didn’t seem surprised at this. She scribbled in the file and nodded. ‘Well that’s to be expected. A lot of kids don’t get to choose who fosters them, but I can see you’re an unusual case. I’ll try and arrange it for you to see Victor for a while. How about Saturday?’

  ‘Saturday is fine.’

  The meeting concluded - Rita slapped her file shut and rose. ‘Great. I’ll speak to Victor and be in touch about Saturday.’

  Rita slurped the rest of her tea and retreated to the office for another ‘quiet word’ with Molly. Then she left. Ofelia finished sorting out Stoney’s washing for him and even re-made his bed. That done, she spent the rest of the afternoon reading, then cooking her goulash. She’d always enjoyed cooking and could prepare many eastern European dishes. Goulash was her favourite though, and she’d not had it in a while. She also wanted to do something nice for the others; the carers did their best, but perhaps because of time constraints, dinner often seemed to comprise frozen food or fry-ups.

  When the others eventually returned from school, Ofelia had the pot on the boil, the table laid and the unused dishes cleared away. Everyone enjoyed the home cooked food - a spicy beef stew eaten with crusty bread. Even Molly, who was suspicious of ‘foreign food’ and had never had anything more exotic than a pizza or pasta (she’d never even had a curry) enjoyed it.

  After dinner, Ofelia insisted she finished clearing up and let Stoney, Lucy and Kerry retire to the living room. Once she’d finished, she retreated to her room to read. Stoney came knocking at nine o’clock. He peeped his head around the door looking sheepish. ‘Erm, hi Offers. Thanks for sorting my stuff out today. That’s two favours I owe you.’

  Ofelia lowered her book and shrugged. ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘This morning you hinted you had some stuff to help me sleep? Thinking I might give it a try?’

  Realisation dawned on Ofelia. Stoney had clearly interpreted her offer to help him sleep as an admission that she had some drugs that might help him relax. What was he hoping for? She wondered if Stoney’s nickname might have some basis in truth. She’d have to tackle that with him another time. For now, it was time to see if her idea worked. ‘Stoney, go back to your room. I’ll come to you in ten minute.’

  He grinned, ducked out and disappeared. Ofelia opened out her book at the page she was on, placed it face down on the bed and got up. She descended the stairs and collected a small tumbler from the kitchen. She took it back to her en-suite and locked the door. Holding the glass up to her chin she began to think about feeding. She imagined the taste of fresh blood washing over her lips and down her gullet. It didn’t take long, it didn’t take much concentration. Whatever the blood exchange had depleted had still not been replenished. In seconds, her fangs had extended their full length and were dripping black goo. Satisfied she raised the glass and placed it under her fangs, then gently pressed her top row of teeth on the glass as if biting. The globs of black grew larger and began oozing, then became a slow stream. She eased off once a little pool of viscous black liquid sat in the bottom of the glass.

  She held the glass up and studied it for a moment, then rushed to Stoney’s room. He was sitting with his headphones on, playing a game on his phone. He lowered the headphones when she entered though. ‘Offers!’

  She thrust the glass at him. ‘Here. Bite your lip; draw blood. Then rub as much of this into the wound as you can. Hurry, it might not work if you leave it too long.’

  Stoney took the glass, eyeing her with suspicion. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Something to help you sleep. You have to get it into your blood stream.’

  ‘Is it safe?’ Stoney asked, uncertain.

  ‘Yes, it’s safe. Trust me. It might not work if you wait too long though.’

  Stoney looked at the glass, then bit his bottom lip hard. It took a couple of attempts to draw blood but he felt it when he did. After rubbing his finger on the bite and seeing it covered in crimson, he dipped his index finger in the Immortal Paradox and began rubbing it vigorously into his lip. He repeated this a couple of times. Ofelia watched in silence, hoping this would work. Of course - it did. Stoney felt a sudden tiredness and confusion, then became almost paralysed. He collapsed backwards onto his bed. Ofelia pulled his legs up and covered him in a blanket, then left him sedated, hoping it would mean he could get a decent night’s sleep for a change.

  Chapter 14 - A Day Feed

  That night Ofelia dreamed of Marseille, just before sunrise. She stood on the quayside with her friend of the time, Amicia Le Moyne. They were looking across the bay to the unfinished Château d’If, still in the process of being built. Amicia, a girl of similar build and age pointed to the island and asked in French. [Why do they build a fortress out there? It is silly. They have to take food and fresh water to it by boat.]

  Ofelia shrugged, she looked across at the tattered finery Amicia wore. [I don’t know. I don’t care either. It’s nearly light though. I need to get indoors.]

  Amicia turned to her and smiled. [I know, we did another good deed last night. Do you think that’s the last vampire in France?]

  Ofelia shook her head. [No. But we should leave as soon as we can. Hide me for the day. We leave Marseille tomorrow night. Better to kill one, then move on to a new area. It’s safer.]

  Amicia chuckled, then reached out and took Ofelia’s hand. [It is safer, but it will take you a hundred years if you do it this way. I’ll be an old lady or dead and buried by the time you are finished!]

  Ofelia turned to her friend and watched her age seventy years in the space of a minute. She grew, matured then shrunk and withered, her skin wrinkling and her back arching. When she fell and hit the ground, she was only bones; bones which shattered and crumbled to dust, blowing away in the morning breeze. Part of her knew this had never happened. Amicia had died in bed in 1589, an old woman, sixty years after they’d stood on the docks in Marseille. Another bitter reminder of the friends she’d lost to the ravages of time. The shock of the imagery woke her early, and she had to fight hard to get back to sleep.

  ***

  Ofelia rose early and got ready for school. She felt much better and wanted to talk to Ollie about her experience at the hospital. Stoney was already up, sitting at the breakfast table, eating his cereal. Ofelia entered the kitchen. ‘Morning Stoney. How did you sleep?’

  He nodded. ‘Not bad. Much better in fact. Can’t remember what you did, but it bloody worked! What time did I fall asleep last night?’

  Ofelia shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Some time just after nine? Maybe nine-thirty?’

  Stoney’s jaw dropped. ‘Wow. First time I’ve been asleep before twelve as long as I can remember. How did you-’

  She press
ed a finger to her lips. ‘Shh, it’s not the time. I’ll help you again tonight though.’

  Ofelia made herself some toast and a black coffee. While they were eating, Lucy and Kerry turned up, yawning their way through mumbled good mornings. Before long they’d all piled into Gavin’s Mondeo to be driven to school.

  ***

  Their first lesson was music - a lesson Ofelia hadn’t had before. The classroom was filled with electronic keyboards, with a battered old grand piano at the front. The teacher, a Miss Spinney, was the nervous type; she kept fidgeting with her glasses, which dangled from her neck on a string like a necklace. She waited for them to settle down, Ofelia sat next to Ollie as usual. ‘Now class, does anybody play an instrument?’

  Ofelia looked around. Imelda had thrust her hand up, plus a couple of others. Miss Spinney went around the class, asking the children what they played. There was a guitarist, a clarinettist and a cellist. When she asked Imelda, she answered. ‘I play the piano. I’m grade two miss.’

  At this point Ofelia sighed and raised her hand. Miss Spinney turned to her. ‘And what do you play?’

  Ofelia shrugged. ‘Piano. I learnt on harpsichord originally, but I like the piano better. I don’t have grade.’

  Miss Spinney frowned at the mention of the archaic harpsichord. Ofelia had taken it up in the mid-sixteenth century, but she’d re-doubled her efforts when pianos had become available in the eighteen-hundreds. Miss Spinney gestured towards Imelda. ‘Now performance is an important part of learning music. I don’t have the other instruments available, but before the lesson starts, would you like to play us a piece?’

  Imelda grinned and walked to the front, looking smug. She sat at the grand piano, waited for silence - then hacked out a fairly rough, but serviceable Für Elise. She made a few mistakes and her left hand was much weaker than the right. The children were impressed though and applauded enthusiastically. Imelda gave a quick bow, then returned to her seat. That meant it was Ofelia’s turn. She went to the front when asked and sat at the piano. Before she started, she turned to the class. ‘I’m going to play my favourite piano piece. This is the third movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata.’