by Unknown
“So some of the neighbours don’t like my feeding the wildlife!” Peg countered, stung. “So what? It’s none of their damn business!”
“Wildlife? Come on, Peg! It was the rats that did it. You can’t blame people for being upset! And you really don’t want any kind of official nosing around here — they might start digging deeper — you’re jeopardizing all of us!”
“The Health Officer didn’t find any fault with the house — he just said to stop feeding the vermin!”
Peg saw the unfortunate glimmer of red that still lingered in Mark’s eyes when he was really angry. She was well aware she’d gone too far. He snapped the locks on his briefcase shut, turning it over roughly on the table.
“Be careful!” Peg said. “The table’s antique — Chinese — you’ll ruin the finish!”
Mark ignored her. “It’s all settled then, except for the casket. What would you like? Marble? Rosewood?”
“Silver,” Peg said. “It’ll be small, as it’s a cremation, so it shouldn’t cost too much — considering what we all are, silver’s somewhat appropriate, don’t you think?”
“Wrong species,” Mark said, sarcastically. “Besides, it would have to be custom, and we haven’t time.”
“Oh, so we’re a species now?” Peg said. “I didn’t know we’d acquired such status. Anyway, a silver casket might be seen as relevant in a roundabout way, symbolic — a tip of the hat to our werewolf friends. What do you think?”
“Stop it, Peg! You know all this is necessary. Anyway, you brought this mess on yourself.”
“No, Mark,” she said quietly. “Not altogether.”
The sound of birds squabbling in the garden outside broke the silence between them. Mark yanked his briefcase from the table and started towards the kitchen and the back door.
“Someone will pick you up tomorrow, first thing.”
Peg followed, watching him through the screen as he navigated the broken pavement. Keeping to the shade, he brushed aside low branches on his way to the lane. His sleek German sports car was parked carefully at the edge of her property. He always came and went from the back, to avoid notice. She smiled bitterly — that was Mark: designer suit and sunglasses, custom Italian-leather shoes — all the trappings of a successful company director. He worried about drawing attention in the suburbs, but not enough to change his clothes or drive a less conspicuous vehicle. The car engine started smoothly.
“Tomorrow,” he called through the open car window, pulling away.
Always his way, Peg thought, struggling with her anger. She couldn’t — wouldn’t — think of tomorrow right now, or the unhappy changes it would bring.
She blinked as the sunlight shifted through some branches and into her eyes. Her special lens implants were largely successful in blocking the sun’s rays, but she still felt more comfortable wearing sunglasses in bright daylight.
Peg took her spare pair from the hook by the door and put them on, making her way out and down the steps into the overgrown garden. The sun block she’d applied earlier should last two more hours at least. Her skin had adapted enough to do without for brief periods anyway.
Peg hated Mark’s manipulative ways, especially as he was the one who’d duped her into her current lifestyle. Her condition might be permanent, and she knew she needed the support of the Group to get by, but her resentment over their control ran deep. Worse, her latest escapades had pushed their patience to the limit.
She’d maintained the house meticulously since her parents left it to her. The garden ran wild, but she loved the creatures her unkempt lot attracted. And if a few rats and crows had benefited from the food she’d left for all of them to enjoy, so be it. She was sorry her neighbour’s dog had been bitten by a rat that strayed into his garden. She’d paid for the veterinary costs, and apologized repeatedly. As for her more serious transgression in town, recently, well…
Pushing her way into the riot of flowers, she began to pull weeds. She studied the small birds that flitted from branch to branch, listening to their intense chatter. One good thing about being a vampire — or having Changeling’s syndrome, as it was now known — was the ability to sense the essence of all living things. The birds’ excitement over finding a food source was palpable; it sang across the air with frenetic joy. Peg felt it in her head, heart and bones. For a moment, the sun, the scent of flowers and the warm breeze seemed to fill her weary soul to the brim.
“Hello, little ones…” she breathed, pitching her voice just so, and following with a low, trilling whistle. Several of the birds answered her, and she was rewarded by the bright images that flashed from their minds to hers.
Strains of sound carried on the breeze from further up the lane: violin music, flawlessly played. It was Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto in E Minor, a favourite of Peg’s.
Sophie was out in her garden.
Bending, Peg plucked flowers rapidly: daisies, bachelor’s button, some re-growth Canterbury bells.
She left the garden and started up the lane, grateful for the shade of intermittent cedars. She’d been part of the committee that fought to save the trees, to the anger of those who wanted the view.
When she reached Sophie’s small gate, she rang the garden bell. Sophie didn’t pause, so Peg opened the gate and descended the winding stone steps to the path.
I won’t tell her about tomorrow right away, she thought.
Peg left the path and found her way along the large stepping stones to the corner of the garden. The pride of Sophie’s late husband, Jeff, the space harboured every conceivable kind of local plant.
Sophie sat on the bench by the river-rock wall. The light filtered through the overhanging perennials, dancing all about her, emphasizing her slender form and pale hair. Peg sat down quietly in the willow chair opposite, as Sophie continued to play.
Sophie’s phrasing sustained the sense of melody well through the silences the orchestra normally filled. Peg listened, breathless. She was sorry when the movement came to an end and Sophie lowered her bow, placing it carefully with the violin in the cushioned corner of the bench.
“What do you think, Peg?’
“Wonderful, as usual.”
“The orchestra doesn’t think so. They’re replacing me for the Saturday concert. I messed up badly at rehearsal. Jeff loved Mendelssohn, and I got part way into it and I just … God, when does it end, Peg? When does it stop?” She began to cry.
Peg was used to Sophie’s passionate bursts of grief. Since her husband’s death over a year ago at the hands of a drunk driver, Sophie was inconsolable.
“For you,” Peg said gently, handing Sophie the tousled bouquet. Sophie’s garden was well-ordered, but she loved more wayward flowers. Drying her cheeks with the backs of her hands, she embraced the bundle.
“Thank you. They’re so wild and bright and … free.”
“Not any more,” Peg teased, breaking off a loose root. “It’s a vase on your kitchen table now, for all of them.”
Sophie laughed a little. “Silly thing to say, I know.” She started up from the bench. “Tea? Japanese, yes? I’ve some almond biscuits, too.”
Peg studied Sophie as she went up the path and back steps into her house. She’d lost more weight, which was worrying.
The house was charming — renovated early fifties. Sophie kept the place obsessively intact, leaving Jeff’s things exactly where he’d placed them last.
Her talent had seemed boundless before Jeff’s accident, yet now she struggled with work she’d once handled with ease. On her own, Peg knew, Sophie’s playing was as enchanting as ever, but when it came to performing, her tendency to falter and freeze was destroying her promising career.
When Sophie returned with a pot of Japanese green tea and almond cakes on a tray, she was smiling. Placing the tray on the table, she poured the tea, handing Peg a porcelain hand-cup.
“Tea’s just right,” she said. This was a familiar ritual, agreeable to both women. In the real-world sense, Peg was approaching
middle age, the theatre makeup she applied each day supporting this image. She’d wanted children, before Mark changed her life so cruelly. If she had a daughter, even a niece or companion, she’d want her to be like Sophie: artistic, independent.
“I love our afternoons,” Sophie said after a moment. “You’ll stay for supper, of course?” This, too, was accepted practice, though often if Sophie stopped in, Peg would play host. Peg had adjusted to the point where she could nibble a little at meals, but mostly she toyed with her food or covered it with a napkin for quick disposal later.
“I couldn’t have survived this year without you, Peg — no, no protests! You’ve been such a great friend.” She poured herself another cup of tea, reflecting. “You know what really gets me? I heard the bastard that hit Jeff could be out in seven months. Seven months!”
Peg reached out and patted Sophie’s hand. The urge to ‘hunt’ Sophie had passed long ago — Peg couldn’t do that to someone she cared for so much. Yet sitting here, with the sweet scent of Sophie’s blood in her nostrils, it was impossible not to feel the finer impulses of that primitive instinct. She could sense the pulse of Sophie’s arteries and veins, her heart. Images of Sophie’s emotions — complex, coloured patterns — played across Peg’s mind. There was a sound, too, a mingling of things physical and spiritual, like an eerie kind of music. In her mind, she could see Sophie’s heart beating, appreciate her sadness on so many levels.
“Peg?” Sophie was looking at her, puzzled. “Supper? You’ll give me a hand?”
Peg nodded, and Sophie returned to the house with her violin. Peg loved the way the sun filled her with warmth recently, a welcome change to the deep chill that had been with her since her initiation. She tuned in briefly to the wild creatures in the garden. One of the birds was old and sick, and Peg felt his distress, tuning into his grey-green flashes of fear. To think her kind had used this instinct to ‘hunt’…
She pushed herself to her feet and went to help.
Sophie’s kitchen was a pleasant place, filled with jars of herbs and spices. After a time, the two women sat enjoying their supper on the back porch. Sophie ate well when Peg was around. They chatted afterward, in the waning light. Peg grew uneasy, wondering how to break the news about tomorrow, but Sophie provided the opening.
“You know how we talked, a few weeks ago, about taking a holiday together? Peg, I think it’s a great idea — if we could find a reduced fare—”
“Sophie, wait,” Peg broke in. Damn, she was bad at these things.
“What?” Sophie’s expression changed. She appeared wary in the lantern light. Her hair, skin and eyes seemed to be the same shade of gold, and she looked thin and vulnerable.
“Something’s come up, problems…” Peg blundered on. “I need to have things … done. I’ll be out of touch, for a few days—”
“You’re sick, aren’t you?” Sophie pounced, agitated. “Oh Peg, I knew it. You’ve been looking so drawn, and those friends of yours are in and out so much.”
“It’s complicated,” Peg finished lamely. She wrestled constantly with whether or not to tell Sophie about herself. With all her peculiarities, she wondered that Sophie had never guessed — others had, and had shunned her, as most did her kind. But the longer she sat here, waffling, the worse she’d make things. She stood, unhappy.
“I’m tired — I need to get up early. Thanks for supper.”
The two women climbed the steps to the gate in silence, Peg clutching the lantern they shared back and forth on any nocturnal visits. Sophie pressed Peg’s arm. “I hope the results are negative,” she whispered.
Peg couldn’t bear to look back. She hurried down the lane, oblivious to the growing night. A car approached, and she stepped to one side.
“Coffee, Friday morning,” her neighbour Madge called from her open car window. Peg nodded and waved; it was just easier. She closed her gate and made her way around to the front, sitting on the bench by the steps.
This would be one of the last nights she’d spend here. The thought filled Peg with anguish. She loved this house, perched on the hilltop, with its coved ceilings and leaded glass windows. She’d maintained the place in period, and in keeping with the other houses on the street. The view was the best part, at dawn, and at night when the lights of the greater suburbs below performed their magic, or the moon came up.
Peg had hurt Sophie, would hurt her more in the coming days. The edicts of the Group were cruel and absolute. Yet she had to go through with things, for now, until she had a set plan.
The sound of a car pulling up to the curb below roused her. She recognized the vehicle at once. A woman got out and made her way up the steps.
“Hello, Nel,” Peg said. “Come with my death warrant, have you?”
“Nope,” the other answered, sitting beside her, smoothing her crisp, light business suit. She fished in her briefcase, bringing out papers. “Just paperwork for the condo purchase.” There was an awkward pause. Nel brushed her brown hair from her face. A fellow Group member and a real estate agent, she was originally from back east, from pioneer times, and her accent reflected that.
“I’m sorry Peg,” Nel said. “A lot of us don’t agree with the way these relocations are handled — we’ve talked about some of the things you said at the last Group get-together, and we want you to know you have friends.”
“Thanks,” Peg whispered. The papers lay on the bench beside her long after Nel had gone. Peg couldn’t bring herself to look at them.
The terrace vista of mountains, inlet and metropolis was postcard perfect, Peg thought.
Mark came up behind her, placing an arm around her, and she willed herself not to flinch. “Twenty five stories up, over two thousand square feet and designed by the best architect in town.”
“People are homeless, down there,” Peg said, obstinate. Mark sighed.
“Peggy, I only want what’s best for you. This is better than the suburbs.” There it was again, that tone, paternal, patronizing, full of the old possessiveness. Peg shrugged his arm away, crossing the large terrace garden and entering the penthouse.
At least a hundred of the Tyme and Nevermore Investment Group were enjoying wine, fellow-sufferers celebrating Peg’s ‘move.’ That she hated this large, glossy condo with windows that looked out on every aspect of the city was irrelevant.
It was hers, and an expensive punishment. Relocation was traumatic. Change of address and identity, a false death certificate and new papers for every contingency, even surgical enhancements…
She’d made a serious slip, this time. She should have persisted with her medication, as others did, even if it made her emotions flatline. ‘Hunting’ that young man a few weeks ago had been stupid, especially since the Group had banned the activity. It was a minor nip, but still assault, and though the police hadn’t got to her yet they were assuredly closing in.
“Peg!” Nel called, waving Peg over to a group of people by the galley kitchen: Len, Donna, Carlos and a few others, the caterers moving among them. Company brochures were scattered over the marble counter top.
Tyme and Nevermore Investment Group, Peg thought. Few caught the literary allusion in the name, as Poe wasn’t widely read any more.
Peg glanced at the young caterer next to her — blood scent, pulse, skin temperature, and something else, hard and aggressive … a tumour! Peg was shocked. And she’s so young!
“You should get a mammogram,” Peg blurted. Taking a glass of wine from the startled girl’s tray, she turned to greet her friends.
“Just forming your defence,” one of them, Len, quipped as she approached.
“Thanks,” Peg grinned in spite of herself. “It is a bit like a public execution.”
“And all the judges,” another man, Carlos commented. “Our Board of Directors — so smug! They’ve no right to do this to you, Peg, not in law.”
“The attention’s put all of you at risk,” Peg conceded.
“And so the Board decideth,” Nel giggled. Peg wondered
if she was drunk.
“The Board ‘decideth’ a lot,” Len said. “How we live, who we see, where our money goes.”
“That part’s interesting,” Carlos, a chartered accountant, ventured. “With Nel’s help, I’ve done a little hacking into their records.”
“Carlos, for God’s sake be careful!” Peg was alarmed. “I broke the rules, and look at me. Forced to relocate, to purchase a place I loathe, and I don’t know my forfeit yet.”
“You can afford this,” Len said. “We all could. It’s just their damned, galling—”
“Easy,” Nel cautioned. “They’re looking.”
A small, well-dressed group of men and women gathered by the long glass dining table, studying Peg and her company with disapproval. The Board could make things so much worse — they controlled what the public knew, managed the company investments and branches, and the clandestine blood bank. Many had special and historic power reserves, personal and frightening abilities the newer members lacked. One of them, Fiora, brazenly held up a glass of what was surely blood — Peg could smell it from here.
“Perhaps we should play our part — you know, indulge in the time-honoured cliché,” Len said. He was a handsome man, and looked in his late thirties. “Good evening, my dear,” he said to a passing caterer. “Or perhaps I should say good afternoon.” Curling his fingers and baring his teeth, he produced a loud, hissing “KKKgh!” While this perplexed and amused the catering staff, the Board observed stone-faced.
It occurred to Peg that her friends were drunk. To make things worse, Mark was headed their way.
“Peggy,” he said, taking her aside. “You seem so unhappy.” She glimpsed the old Mark for a moment, before the darkness and desolation in his soul resurfaced.
“Yes.”
“You could try a little harder, for me. We go back so far. It took a lot to set this up.”
“I can see that.”’
“My new place is nearby — we could see more of each other.”
“I don’t think so.” Peg pulled away.
“That’s too bad.” Mark paused, looking out and down at the windmills in the distant inlet. To Peg, they seemed like grounded birds. Most vampires were like that too, now, though they’d once flown with ease, if in a different form. “I met Sophie, at last, yesterday, in your lane,” Mark went on suggestively.