Blood Slave

by Roseau, Robin

  Three years later, she contracted an illness, influenza of some sort. She was near death, but she sent for me. Very little was understood about illness, of course, and there was little to be done for her. I recognized her condition immediately, and I wept over her. She saw my tears and lifted a hand to brush them away.

  She made me promise to watch over her children, which wasn't a difficult promise to give. I loved her so deeply. I hadn't loved my husband, you see-

  Oh, yes. I was married, but that is not a story for today.

  I hadn't loved my husband, and other than my maker, I hadn't loved anyone since my parent's death, a death I wasn't able to attend, as I had long been a vampire and would not have been safe.

  But I loved her, I loved her with such a deep ache, and I would have done anything for her.

  I whispered quietly to her that death did not need to be final, that she could watch over her children herself, and she could be together with me forever.

  She turned me down, but that wasn't an agreement I could make. So as death came knocking, I fed her my blood, I fed her a great deal of my blood, and then I drained her to her death, hiding the evidence. She died in my arms, unaware of what I had done.

  I allowed her children to see the body, and the priest, but then I said I would bury her in my graveyard. I was rich and powerful, and a village priest could not stand against me. The eldest son was easily bought off, and so I bore her away. I bought a casket, and I dug a hole. And I buried the empty casket while her body lay deep under my castle, far from the sun's light.

  And three nights later, she rose.

  She was angry at first, very angry with me. I told her if she was so ready to die the final death, she need only climb to the top of the battlements, and she would die with the morning sun, but I begged her to share a glass with me, first. She thought I meant wine, and I didn't let her see it was blood, waiting for the smell.

  It was a close thing. She raised the glass, the blood halfway to her lips, when the scent hit her. She nearly threw it away.

  "What is this?" she asked, setting it aside.

  "Life," I told her.

  "What creature died for this life to come to my glass?"

  "No creature died, Gretchen," I told her. "I kill to survive, when necessary, but I do not kill to eat."

  She didn't want to drink it, but the scent, oh the scent, it was in her, and she kept looking at it. I said nothing. I let her decide. And then she said, "I couldn't stay here, could I?"

  "No. But we can leave them with money, and we can watch over them from afar. Someday we can come back, and you can see your grandchildren, and your great grandchildren, for generation after generation."

  She drank the glass, and when with it came the ecstasy from feeding. She laughed, a little wildly, and asked for another.

  Together we left three nights later. We traveled to England for a time, and Ireland, but Ireland was not safe. We spent much of our time in other parts of Europe, far from Bavaria, far from anyone who would recognize her. And we loved and were in love.

  And then we made a mistake. I took her to Italy. We avoided Rome. Rome was never safe for our kind. The Church knew about us, after all, they had long known about us. But I took her to Italy, and it was there, only the third day after our arrival, that she drew the attention of The Inquisition.

  It was, to some extent, my mistake. She slept during the day, you see, and I had been about, careful of the sun, but awake, and I did not make it back before she woke. She was hungry, and I had not taught her all the dangers.

  She drank from one of the hunters, and in doing so, was captured.

  I tried to free her. But The Inquisition had her, and they knew what they were doing. She was put to questioning.

  I won't talk about that part.

  I came to her two nights later. I couldn't free her from her cell, and I couldn't leave her to their questions.

  I was her maker. I could destroy her. She thanked me at the end and begged me to make it quick. She told me she loved me and told me I'd given her more life than she'd ever had a right to.

  And then, she was gone.

  You've seen my rages. You can imagine mine. I killed. I killed the hunter who had caught her. He was first, and he died slowly, in a great deal of pain. And I killed several of the others, one at a time, letting them live for weeks before their bodies expired. And I would have gone on killing, over and over, but Cassius came to me, and he told me I had to stop.

  Of course, I didn't want to, but he was my maker, and I could not refuse him. He took me away, far away to the new world, where I stayed for a very long time.

  Last Days (Continued)

  I held her as she cried, cried for a lover dead for more than four hundred years, my great many times removed grandmother. Finally she dried her tears.

  "Four hundred years, and still I cry like a baby," she said.

  "You loved her," I said. "Thank you for telling me about her."

  "I tracked her offspring from the new world, then eventually went back to find them myself. I lost track of many of them, but I found many, as well. But it was dangerous for a vampire to remain in one area for too many years, or people could begin to wonder. It is easier for someone who was turned at an older age, as it is not so hard to disguise someone who looks thirty to look fifty-five, but more difficult to make a nineteen-year-old appear to be thirty. But I tracked them as best I could."

  She smiled, brushing away the last of the tears. "Your grandmother was a real pistol."

  "Did she know you?"

  "Not as a vampire," she replied. "We became friends for a short time. She liked to get into trouble, but was amazingly good at talking her way out of the repercussions."

  "I bet she wouldn't have done time for a glass of wine," I suggested.

  "Maybe she wouldn't have," Demetria admitted. "If I had been here, you wouldn't have, either, but I was gone when your case came to trial."

  "You would have intervened?"

  "Behind the scenes. You'd have been deeply bled, but not killed, and not sentenced to being a blood slave. I'm sorry I wasn't here when you needed me."

  "You didn't know. How did I come to your, um. Care?"

  She smiled. "You do not believe the judge gave you mercy, and in a way, he did. He could have done more for you, but he could have done less, too. He made phone calls, looking for a vampire who was a collector."

  "The hold on my case," I said in a quiet voice.

  "Yes. You were not known in vampire circles, but he finally reached someone who had seen some of my collection, and that was how he reached me."

  "He told you about me."

  "If we'd been in the same room, I may have killed him, but I had calmed down by the time I got back here. I told my solicitors to acquire you, disregard the cost. And then the judge removed the hold."

  I smiled briefly. "I think that's enough talking for a while. How about some racquetball."

  "And what are we playing for?"

  "If you win, you may tickle me," I offered.

  She laughed.

  "If I win, you will kiss my feet."

  She laughed again and agreed instantly.

  It was a close game. After the shower, I stepped up to her and said, "This is my most ticklish spot."

  "I know."

  * * * *

  I spent hours telling her about me, and her telling me about my ancestors. I told her about my first kiss and how it felt to sell my first painting. And slowly, I worked the conversation around to my art.

  "I've always defined myself by my art," I told her. "My earliest memories are of drawing. I didn't have many friends growing up; the other kids thought I was weird."

  "I know," she whispered. "I remember you on the playground at your school."

  "Were you stalking me?" I asked, but I grinned.

  "We met."

  "We did?"

  "In that park near your home. You were nine, I think, sitting in the park with your sketchpad. I sat down not t
oo far away from you with a bag of popcorn and spent a half hour luring a squirrel to eat from my hand."

  "Oh my god!" I said. "I drew you. I still have that drawing somewhere."

  She smiled.

  "I thought you might have," she said. "That's why I did it. I watched you carefully. You laughed as I grew frustrated."

  "I remember."

  "I wanted to offer you friendship, to tell you it would be all right, but of course, I couldn't."

  "You should have."

  "No, you were too young." She smiled. "You know, that squirrel bit me."

  "I didn't see."

  "The little rat nearly died for it, but I smiled and gave him more popcorn instead."

  "That would have left an impression, you going all vampire on the squirrel."

  "Very frowned upon. We're supposed to be scary enough to keep all of you in line, but not so scary we give you nightmares."

  Then she realized what she had said, and we both looked away.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "That was stupid."

  I reached over and took her hand. "It is what it is. Did you love my grandmother?"

  "In a way. We were friends, and not particularly close, although I wanted to be. I kept myself aloof, however, because I knew we could only have a few years before I would need to drift from her life."

  "Vampires were out by then, weren't they?"

  "No. The war wasn't for another twelve years."

  "Tomorrow, when you tell me more of your story, you aren't going to tell me anything after you parted with my grandmother. I don't want to know what part you played in the war."

  "All right."

  "So, we were talking about my art. I didn't know anything was special about it for a long time. Even in grade school, when all the other kids struggled with their art projects, and mine were so easy, I didn't realize it was special. It was middle school before I finally got it."

  "You won that blue ribbon."

  "You knew about that?"

  "It was in the paper. I wasn't there."

  "By then, I knew what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to make the world more beautiful. People say how well something works is most important, but I believe aesthetics matter. I believe people are happier when the things they see and use are pleasing to the eye."

  "I think you're right," she agreed.

  "And so, I devoted my life to bringing beauty to the world, both in my industrial designs and in my drawings and paintings."

  "Oh Melissa," she said, understanding where I was taking this.

  "It's too late for regrets," I told her. "But do you understand?" I showed her my latest drawing. "I don't want to bring more ugliness into the world, but I can't stop drawing. I think I'd have to be dead inside to stop."

  I shrugged "I suppose we could burn them," I said.

  "No."

  "But if I keep drawing, I'll make the world uglier and uglier." I set aside the pad. "I won't be able to leave that there. My hands will reach for it soon."

  "I know."

  "I need to draw like you need blood."

  "I know."

  "When I'm gone, you're going to make sure the world sees my beauty. You won't hide them away. You can keep a few pieces here for yourself, or rotate them with the gallery, or whatever you do, but you won't hide them from the world."

  "I promise," she said.

  "I've never allowed reproductions."

  "I know."

  "I've talked to Andre. He is going to draw up paperwork selling reproduction rights. I want you to buy them from my mother. I don't know what is fair. Maybe you don't want to make reproductions, but maybe you can pay her a little for them anyway, so she doesn't sell them to someone who will abuse the rights."

  "I'll negotiate something with Andre and your mother. Don't worry, I'll see she is comfortable."

  "She won't want to talk to you."

  "I'll use an intermediary. I frequently do when dealing with humans, anyway."

  "I know my work isn't important," I said. "It's never going to hang in the Smithsonian or the Louvre. But I'm not so modest that I don't notice people smiling when they stand before something I've painted. I used to make the world better."

  "You still do."

  "No. Now I'm a leech."

  "You are not!"

  "How much have you spent trying to convince me to live without my art?"

  "That's not what I was doing!"

  "We're not going to argue. Do you want to know about my first boyfriend?"

  "I most certainly do not!" she said. She sighed. "Peter Hastings."

  I buzzed at her. "Vinnie Walkins. Peter and I never dated. I thought you said you were keeping track of me."

  "Evidently not as closely as I thought."

  "You aren't going to go bleed Vinnie dry now, are you, in a fit of jealousy?"

  She laughed. "His blood is safe from me."

  "How about Pru?"

  "Her blood is safe, too."

  "Pru was good to me, in her own way." We talked about other things.

  * * * *

  The next day, Demetria began telling me her history, but she started at the wrong end. She started with her time with my grandmother.

  "You know, most people start at the beginning."

  "And yet, I'm starting near the end," she said. "I'm saving my marriage for last."

  And so, she told me her life, in reverse. She had lived so many places, and when I asked how many languages she spoke, she asked, "Do dialects count?" She pointed out that the romance languages were easy to learn, once you knew a few. She refused to learn Arabic, but she spoke Cantonese, Mandarin, and Japanese. I got her to speak Japanese for me for a half hour; it was beautiful.

  We had a lovely day, and slowly, she drew closer and closer to 1640, when Cassius turned her. Cassius began to appear more and more frequently in her stories as she drew closer to when he had turned her.

  "I want to stop talking for a while," she said. It was mid afternoon. "Racquetball?"

  "What do you want if you win?"

  "A kiss. A real kiss."

  I thought about it. "All right. At midnight. And if I win, at midnight, you have to do something I really want, but I won't tell you what. It will only take you a few minutes, and you'll enjoy doing it for me."

  "But you aren't going to tell me what?"

  "Not until midnight."

  She agreed.

  She played "nice", making me work as she always did, but every volley was one I could return, if I worked for it. The score became thirteen-nineteen in her favor, and she told me how sweet that kiss was going to be, but then I took the next eight points.

  She was pleased and disappointed at the same time.

  "I wanted that kiss."

  "Maybe I'll let you talk me into a goodnight kiss," I told her.

  "I have a surprise for you."

  "Is it a puppy?"

  "No."

  "Kitty?"

  "No."

  "Ferrari?"

  She paused. "How did you guess?"

  "I knew it! I always wanted a Ferrari. Wait, we should celebrate with a glass of wine before we take it for a drive."

  "Melissa..."

  "What? You can't handle a little graveyard humor?"

  "No."

  "Fine. It's not a Ferrari, is it?"

  "No, I'm afraid not."

  "What would I do with a Ferrari, anyway?"

  "It's better than a Ferrari."

  "Aston Martin?"

  She laughed. "No."

  I sighed dramatically. "I'm out of ideas. Oh wait. Wait. Elephant!"

  "Where would I keep an elephant?"

  "In my bedroom. Duh."

  Shaking her head, she said, "There's no elephant in your bedroom."

  "There's been an elephant in the room since I got here three years and two months ago."

  "Ha, ha. Come on, I'll show you."

  "Fine. I still think if you loved me, you'd buy me an Aston Martin."

  She grew still.<
br />
  "No, you can't bribe me, Demetria. I'm making jokes."

  "I know. Come on." She pulled me to her room and asked me to close my eyes.

  "Is it chocolate?"

  "No! You're not going to guess."

  "I already saw it."

  "What?"

  "Well, it's not like it's in your size."

  "You peeked?"

  "It's beautiful. Are you taking me to dinner?"

  "Yes, down to the dining room. I don't want to share you."

  It was a beautiful dress, deep violet, and I felt stunning and sophisticated. She had a new dress for herself, bright red. Then she said, "In an earlier time, women wore hats."

  I grinned. "I love hats."

  And so we each wore a hat as well, and she even had opera gloves to match our dresses. I had never felt so sophisticated. I twirled in front of the mirror.

  "Will you dance with me after dinner?"

  "I would love to dance with you."

  "Can you lead?"

  "I think I can make do."

  Dinner was lovely, lamb chops with mint chutney and curried parsnips and braised asparagus. Demetria offered wine, but I said, "You know, I think as tacky as it is, I just want a soda or two."

  "Of course," she said. But she poured it into a wine glass for me. Then she sat and watched me eat.

  "Nothing for you?"

  "No, not tonight," she said. "I want a clear palate tonight."

  "Planning on tasting someone later?"

  "Yes."

  "Good." I smiled. "Not before I say though."

  "Of course not."

  We danced for an hour before I told her, "It's time."

  "Time?"

  "I want you to pose nude for me."

  She looked away. "Please, Melissa."

  "You've seen mine. I want to see yours. Or this evening is over."

  "No..." She closed her eyes. "All right, but don't rush me."

  "Will you mind if I bring paint to your room?"

  "I'll help."

  And so, twenty minutes later, I had an easel and my paints set up, but I was going to draw first.

  "If I'm getting naked, so are you."