Blood Slave

by Roseau, Robin

  "Thank you. Am I free to go?"

  "I will have a bailiff escort you," he said. He picked up the phone, spoke briefly, then said, "It will only be a minute."

  "I can drive you, Melissa," Lady Dunn said. "Where ever you wish to go."

  "Yeah, that's not happening," I said firmly. "Where are my things that were confiscated when I was arrested?"

  "Your lawyer has them," the judge said after checking records."

  There was a knock, and then a bailiff opened the door.

  I got up and was out the door before I realized something: I had no money and no idea where I was going.

  I stopped.

  "Melissa," Lady Dunn said. "Please, may I take you to lunch?"

  "No. Bailiff, is there a phone I may use? I find myself in need of a ride."

  "Actually, Ms. Walsh," the bailiff said, "there are people waiting for you. If you will come this way."

  I turned around one more time, staring at the two people who had worked together to ruin my life. "I hope the two of you are proud of what you did to me. You understand I never want to see either of you again. Ms. Dunn, there will be no children, and there is no further need for your observation. Leave me alone."

  And then I followed the bailiff.

  * * * *

  The bailiff brought me to a private waiting room, and when the door opened, Mom and Tegan were there. I flew into my mother's arms, then pulled Tegan to me. I was crying immediately. They held me tightly, both of them crying with me.

  "Take me home, Mama," I said. "Please take me home."

  "Which home?" she asked. "Yours or mine?"

  "I don't have one," I said.

  "Yes you do," said Tegan. "Your apartment is waiting for you. It's a long story."

  I pulled away. "The cost-"

  "I'll explain later. I drove. Home? Or pizza?"

  "Mom's," I said, crying again. "And pizza."

  * * * *

  I held my questions until we got to Mom's. She ordered a pizza and handed me a can of soda. I stared at it. I didn't have to ask permission ever again. I opened it and took a long gulp.

  They pulled me to the living room, and we sat together, me in the middle. I clutched at both of them and cried again.

  Once I pulled myself together, I said, "The important news first."

  "How are you, honey?" Mom asked.

  "Alive. That's all I want to say right now."

  They took turns catching me up -- new relationships, a new baby in the family, Tegan was recently broken up but not that upset about it. "I want to have a party for you," she said.

  "Not until I get rid of this," I said, gesturing to my face.

  "I can't believe they sent you home like this," Mom said.

  "Is it shocking?"

  "Don't worry about that," she said. "Forget I said anything."

  I turned to Tegan. "My apartment?"

  "The strangest thing," she said. "A, well, she called herself a patron stepped forward."

  I stared. "Patron?"

  "Yes. She knew what had happened to you and said she'd take care of the apartment expenses until your sentence was over and for six months afterwards. She paid for a cleaning service and even paid for the dog walker for Mrs. Benchley. It was the strangest thing."

  "Was this patron, by any chance, someone you met a year ago?"

  "No," she said. "I've never seen her anywhere except your apartment."

  I had thought it was Demetria.

  "So it wasn't my vampire."

  "Oh, no," she replied. "She is human. We went out for dinner a few times." She paused. "She occasionally let things slip, little things, that suggested she knew more about how you were doing than I did. All I knew was what the courts told me, which wasn't much. You were alive and healthy. That was about all."

  She shrugged. "For someone able to so readily cover your costs for three years, she was surprisingly down to earth. She and her daughter came and helped me cover all your furniture and paintings. They both dived right in, which didn't seem strange at the time, but people with money like that usually pay someone else to get their hands dirty."

  "She and... her daughter. I wouldn't suppose either of them have a name?"

  "She never gave me her full name," Tegan said, "but the bills all got paid. I checked, every month."

  "First name?" I asked.

  "Maria," she said. "I don't remember the daughter's name. I only met her once, and it was three years ago. Amy. Angela. Something."

  "Ashlyn," I said dully.

  "Yeah! That's it. Did you do a painting for them?"

  "You could say that," I said. "Maria is my vampire's cook and go-to woman for everything else."

  They both stared at me. Finally Tegan said, "So, I guess she knew how you were doing."

  "Yeah."

  "Are you mad?"

  "Yeah. Not at you. Thank you for handling everything. I couldn't have asked for more."

  "I'm not done," she said. "You know, I had power of attorney for all this."

  "Yes."

  "Including access to your bank accounts."

  "Yes, with Andre's co-signature."

  "Your balance has been going up. There have been a half dozen deposits with no explanation, and I haven't been able to trace them. The biggest was a year ago."

  I sighed. "How large?"

  "A hundred thousand. Why would someone be putting money in your account? Were you laundering money for the vampires or something?"

  "Or something. She overpaid."

  "Who overpaid?"

  "Madame Cathalina. I'm sure that's her hundred thousand. I did a painting for her. My payment was supposed to be the party you attended." I shook my head. "They play with us. Money means nothing to them. But it's all guilt money."

  Tegan was looking at me oddly.

  "They might play with us," she said. "Was it a large painting?"

  "Three good sized paintings," I said. "A triptych."

  "The party cost her nothing," Mom said. "Okay, not literally nothing. She hired cars for us, and we weren't allowed to see where we were taken. And they told us to never tell. But how much could that have been? A few hundred dollars in all? Even your earlier pieces sold for that much."

  "Yeah, but a hundred thousand?"

  "Well, it's a little high," Tegan said. "I've had inquiries for the art from your apartment, more than inquiries. Outright offers. One gallery was willing to pay just to do a showing and promised prices beginning at ten grand. Some collector called and offered seventy-five thousand for the painting of his choice."

  I shook my head. "That doesn't make sense."

  The pizza arrived, and we changed the subject.

  The pizza was wonderful, but I felt sick after two pieces.

  * * * *

  I stayed with Mom for a week. I had the piercings removed easily and set an appointment for the tattoo.

  I slept poorly, and I refused to go near a sketchpad. I knew what I would draw.

  I became increasingly moody, and when I snapped at Mom for fussing at me, I quietly told her, "It's time I go home, Mom."

  "No," she said. "You stay right here."

  "I need to be alone for a while. I'm sorry."

  "Oh honey. Whatever you need."

  Tegan came to get me that afternoon. The two of them went home with me, and we slipped into my apartment without drawing attention. I wasn't ready to face anyone else, and wouldn't until I got the tattoo removed.

  Other than clear plastic tarps thrown over everything and the kitchen absolutely spotless, my apartment was exactly as I remembered it. Tegan and Mom made a grocery list for me, and Tegan went shopping so I wouldn't have to go out in public. "Lots of frozen pizzas!" I said. "And sugary breakfast cereal."

  They both wanted to stay with me after that, but I sent them home. "We can get together in a few days," I promised. "Thank you for everything. I just want to be alone for a day or two."

  After they were gone, I sat down in the middle of my apartment and cried
.

  Giving Up

  I made it two weeks. I did. I slept poorly, very poorly, but I made it two weeks before I broke down.

  I didn't have Madame Cathalina's last name. I found references to her, but not enough that got me a phone number or email address. How many vampires named Cathalina can there be?

  But I knew where she lived. I'd ridden there enough times. I hired a cab; I didn't know if I'd ever drive again, and I didn't have a car, anyway. I directed the driver, and he was surprised when we pulled up to the gate.

  I rolled my window down, and when we were asked who we were, I said simply, "Melissa Walsh to see Madame Cathalina, if she is available, or to leave a note if she is not."

  There was a pause, and a moment later, the gate opened. We pulled up to the front door, and I told the driver to wait a moment while I saw whether I was welcome. I climbed from the car, and Cathalina opened the door to her house. She hurried forward and took my hands, holding them wide.

  "You look so different, Melissa."

  "I'm sorry for coming without an appointment."

  "Nonsense. You are always welcome."

  "May I speak with you?"

  "Of course."

  "I need to pay the driver, and we can call another cab later."

  "Nonsense. I will see you home myself."

  I paid the driver, leaving him a good tip, and then Cathalina drew me into her house. I was barely inside before I was crying again.

  "Oh, you poor thing," she said, pulling me into her arms. "It gets better. I promise."

  "I haven't slept in two weeks."

  "I thought not."

  She pulled me further into the house, taking me to the sitting room I knew so well. We sat down together while I cried into her shoulder. She let me cry myself out, then waited while I cleaned myself up.

  "Better?" she asked.

  I nodded. "For now."

  "Did you want to talk in here, or should we swing through the kitchen and then go for a walk?"

  "Walk."

  She took my arm, and we ambled slowly. The kitchen was deserted, but she retrieved a soda for me and asked if I were hungry.

  "No, thank you," I said. "But the soda is welcome."

  "Tell me. Have you fallen off your three-year diet?"

  "Big time," I said with a smile. "I haven't exercised and feel fat, though."

  "You don't look fat. You look good."

  "I look thin and haggard, and my face is scarred."

  She stepped closer and caressed my face. "Not too badly. I wish you had kept it."

  "Excuse me?"

  "It was striking."

  "It marked me as a blood slave. I couldn't go in public without drawing more attention than I care for."

  "Perhaps, but how much time have you spent in public since returning home?"

  "That's not the point."

  "Perhaps it's not," she replied. "Come. It is a pleasant day." She took me by the arm again and led the way out the back door. We wandered for a long time, not talking, but eventually we landed at the door to my old studio.

  "How is this space used now?"

  "It is an artist's studio," she said, "and will remain such until I am convinced she will not need it again."

  I started to cry again, which made me angry.

  "Stop it, Melissa!" I said. "Just stop it! Millions of people have gone through so much worse. Chances are, people I know have gone through worse."

  "I can vouch for that." Cathalina patted my hand. "Melissa, you have what used to be referred to as a delicate constitution. You feel everything so much more deeply than someone else might."

  I turned to face her. "You're calling me weak?"

  "No. I am calling you passionate. Let's sit in here."

  She pulled me into the studio, and we took seats. It still smelled the same, a year later.

  "All your supplies are here if you wanted to draw."

  I shook my head.

  "I can make guesses, Melissa, but tell me. Why have you come to see me?"

  I had grown so accustomed to assuming a submissive posture with her that I lowered my eyes to the floor.

  "Can you help me?"

  "I can. What form of help were you hoping to receive?"

  "Sleep. Perhaps permanent sleep."

  "I can offer the former. I do not care to offer the latter."

  I looked up. "Why not?"

  "Because it's not death you need. You require healing."

  "I don't know how to find it."

  "Have you tried?"

  I looked away. "She said she'd help me."

  "Did she rescind her offer?"

  "She should have been helping me all along."

  "She was, and doing the best she could. And she got hit pretty badly herself."

  "You're on her side. Of course you are. You've known her for hundreds of years, and I am just the silly, 'delicate' human."

  "I'm on both your sides. And you wouldn't have come here if you didn't know friendship was available. But I am far, far too old to withhold the truth from you simply because the truth is inconvenient. You aren't ready to stop wallowing."

  I turned back to stare at her and was about to get up and leave, but she put a hand on my knee.

  "Am I wrong? If I am wrong, tell me."

  "I went through hell!"

  "You went through a difficult time. It was not hell." Neither of us said anything for a moment, then she continued. "A little wallowing is understandable, and you are also trying to break the addiction, which is making it difficult to sleep."

  "The nightmares are horrible!"

  "Yes, I imagine they are. Imagine how much worse they might be for the people who have lived through what you see in your nightmares."

  I looked down again. "I know. I'm not strong enough to make it through this. I'm not willing to fight."

  "Ah, and we arrive at the crux of the matter, don't we? You gave up, three years ago, you gave up."

  I didn't respond. She was right.

  "But not entirely," she said more gently. "If you had given up entirely, you wouldn't be here. You would have found a way to destroy yourself. You have had ample opportunity."

  "Maybe I'm too much of a coward."

  "No, you are not a coward, Melissa. A coward would not have stood up to any of us. A coward would have, well, cowered. That is something you most certainly did not do."

  "I don't know what to do, Madame Cathalina."

  "To begin, you must sleep. You cannot think clearly without sleep. You cannot heal without sleep."

  "The nightmares-"

  "I know," she said. "You have them because you haven't finished processing everything, and you haven't forgiven."

  "She hasn't asked!"

  "She has asked over and over, but I'm not talking about forgiving her. I'm talking about forgiving yourself."

  "What? What do I need to be forgiven for?"

  "For putting yourself in this position; and then for making the most of it; for caring about your captor; for not hating her; for not hating me; for making friends with Demetria's staff; for surviving when most don't; for finding a way to prosper."

  "I haven't prospered."

  "Have you checked your bank balance?"

  "You overpaid me."

  "I did not. Absolutely no one else is producing what you are producing."

  "It's ugly, horrible."

  "It is honest."

  That stopped me.

  "But we should, perhaps, start with sleep. Would you like to stay here, and allow me to help you, or is there someone else whose help you would rather receive? Someone who cares about you a great deal?"

  I opened my mouth to begin another rant, but she held up her hand.

  "She is not blameless. She would be the first to admit that. Are you going to forgive her flaws?"

  "I don't know."

  "And so, are you ready to see her? Or would you like my help? You may, if you wish, remain here, either in the house or out here, for as long as you like.
That is not a casual offer. If you are never ready to leave, then so be it."

  "I don't know what to do."

  "Then perhaps you would like me to decide for you."

  I nodded.

  "Then you shall nap now. I will give you dreamless sleep and wake you for dinner. And tonight, you will sleep, but you will dream, but then I will help you sleep deeper, if you need my help. Tomorrow, we shall see."

  I nodded. "All right."

  "I will call your mother, and your friend, Tegan, so they will not worry."

  "Thank you."

  * * * *

  I stayed three nights in her home. She gave me sleep and exercise. And on the morning of the fourth day, she asked, "Are you ready to face your fears?"

  I was.

  She loaned me a driver, and I did what I needed to do, and then, that afternoon, I pulled to another gate, a very familiar gate.

  "Yes?" came the voice over the speaker.

  "It is Melissa," I said. "Will Lady Dunn see me?"

  The gate buzzed open.

  Failure to Heal

  She was waiting for me when I pulled up, watching tentatively. I thanked the driver for his help and climbed from the car holding an envelope. "I may not be welcome," I said. "Please wait."

  "Yes, ma'am," he offered.

  Demetria was watching. She didn't come to me, and so I stepped to her.

  We looked into each other's eyes, each searching and not knowing if we were finding what we needed to find. And then I lowered myself to my knees in front of her and held out the envelope.

  "M'lady," I said. "Two months. Will you have me?"

  She opened the envelope and glanced at the contents.

  "I do not want this," she said, "waving the envelope. I refuse to believe this is hopeless."

  "For two months, I will do anything you ask. I will offer my neck, if you will have it. I will eat the foods you choose and exercise as you command. I will paint or draw, if that is your command, or I will simply serve you in any fashion you require, but at the end of two months, if I do not rescind my request, you will take me to your garden, thrust your fangs into my neck, fill me with pleasure, and let me bleed until I am dead."

  "Two years," she said immediately. "Give me two years."

  "That was not our agreement."

  "Please, Melissa. It doesn't need to be like this."