by Unknown
“I have now set it,” Stefan declared, straightening his shirt as he turned towards me, “at the last setting that I have used. It is as far as I have progressed.”
“As far…? So then you brought me as a witness to some final step? Should I be aquiver with anticipation?”
“If it amuses you. However, as the sun rises, you would probably prefer to stand further away. It took me some time to acclimatise to the current setting.”
“Current setting…? Are you saying that you have already developed at least a partial immunity? That’s amazing!”
“You have seen the affect on my skin already—”
“Then you are immune? You may wander freely?”
“I do not believe so. But—”
“But? State plainly what problems remain. I will work with you if it is a problem that can be solved!”
I strode to the device and scrutinised it as well as I could without actually climbing it.
Stefan smiled at me. “So, it happens to you already.”
“Pardon?”
“You, who say we don’t need the sun, so rapidly offer to help solve the problem.”
“It is deadly to us. If we can remove the harm, not doing so would be insane.”
“You feel the pull. The desire to walk in the sun.”
“And I what … lose control like all the actors wearing cheap fake fangs in low budget films when someone is bleeding? Please, don’t insult me.”
“I don’t. But of course we do not drool and crawl like our fictionalized cousins of the mass media; food is not denied us, we can have it when we will. No, we are denied the sun.”
“And we do well enough without it.”
“Certainly. Because we must, but not because we wish it.”
“Humans can’t breathe water. It doesn’t mean they miss the womb.”
“An arguable point. However, I will tell you this: once I tasted the sun, it pulled me more than ever it had in the days when air was fresh and I bothered to breathe it.”
I had nothing to say to that. I searched my own heart, looking to find what I felt about the sun and honestly came up with no real answer; it had been absent for so long that it was like a long buried relative who had died in one’s youth, the mysterious subject of pictures and a familiar name, but very little more. Perhaps I, too, was to fall victim to some tragic nostalgia should I be reintroduced.
Stefan pushed a comfortable chair beneath the mirrors that hung like a strange and oversized chandelier.
“When the sun rises, I shall sit here, beneath the skylight,” he declared.
“And the mirrors shall block the sun, and you shall survive,” I pointed out the obvious.
“Quite right,” Stefan said, and reached out to a lever. “Then I shall do this.” Giving a tug the mirrors turned, ropes and pulleys lowering them towards the chair and at the same time dropping them farther apart from each other. I gazed in curiosity, striding around the chair, and finally settling into it.
“And yet, there is still no direct line between the sun and your person. I would suspect that you should still be safe,” I speculated.
“I hope so. But since mirrors are of no use to us, it is easy to forget their properties.” He pointed at the hanging glass. “As you can see, each apparatus twists as it falls, redirecting the reflection. The sun, as more and more gaps appear, flows from mirror to mirror, like water around stones, eventually flowing entirely through to the underside where I shall sit awaiting its embrace.”
“By eventually,” I commented, surrendering the seat to him, “you mean essentially immediately. But at no point will it strike you directly.”
“That is, of course, why I survive. I would be a liar, however, if I did not tell you straight out that I did not feel it on my flesh.”
He looked reflective, as if basking in a memory, but finding the memory itself too weak to take any real pleasure in. He shook his head and continued. “I need you here … out of the light’s range, of course. But it has become too dangerous to continue the experiment alone.”
“Dangerous? But the light will never strike you directly, it will be diffuse and weakened; surely you do not intend to progress recklessly!”
Stefan smiled, but the sort of smile that was meant to hide doubt. “Of course not. I have taken precautions.”
“By which you mean me.”
“You shall talk to me, keep me sober.”
“I should think that the foolish danger of allowing sunlight to stream through your ceiling would suffice to keep you focused.”
He smiled. “Let us not belabour the plan. We both know our roles; let us pass the time until morning speaking of other things.”
And so we did. The elephant in the room remained undiscussed, its presence never far from our thoughts, but banished from conversation. Any number of subjects, all light or frivolous topics, were spoken of that night around a steadily depleting cask, but I honestly cannot recall a single discussion, such was the anticipation of the morning’s experiment. When the cask was empty, so was our will to blather. We spent the last hour in silent companionship, waiting for an antique clock to chime us into our roles on the stage.
Suddenly, Stefan strode through the doors and under the reflective pergola like a horse quivering to start a race. Perhaps he was drawn towards the gate with a thrill, excited by what lay ahead. Or perhaps he was instead sprinting to hide fear, to overcome some inner resistance.
He stood before the chair and spun gracefully towards me. “Stay well beyond the door, for the light will spill slightly inward.”
I nodded, and did indeed stand well back, yet close enough to see the sky lighten above the mirrors, the tell-tale shade of grey that showed that day loomed.
Imperceptibly, moment by moment, the sky brightened and the mirrors filled with the slow cascade of light tumbling in, reflecting crystal one to another. Soon Stefan was bathed in the yellow sunlight that had bounced through the silvered glass. He stood in front of the chair, eyes closed, breathing in the light.
“Stefan! You are breathing.”
“Yes. I can smell the difference in the air, feel the warmth of the sun.”
“Ah,” was all I could think to say.
He glowed in the sunlight as it drifted over him like a halo. My eyes were no longer used to light of that particular hue. Squinting, I sat sheltered in the darkness watching a golden nimbus settle around my friend like a poison gas that I couldn’t approach for fear of my own safety. Slowly my eyes began to adjust and details were easier to see.
Finally, Stefan’s hand reached out and touched the lever. And as he did so, I remembered something he said earlier: “And then I shall do this,” as he tumbled the crystals down. What I did not remember at any point was him resetting his device to his previous level.
“Stefan! It is at your next level!”
His hand jerked away from the lever, but the mirrors were already dropping in their cascade of light; shards of sun spinning across the walls of the room like daggers slicing into the paint.
I jumped forward, but was immediately repulsed by the line of light that pressed in on the doorway. I could smell the warmth now, and caught the sound of a heart beat. Lurking in the dark, I huddled away from the light like a cornered animal.
Stefan however, stood still, glorious in a halo of luminescence. His hand remained outstretched, reaching towards the lever. His fingers twitched, inches away from the tool that controlled his fate, torn like a man who has been spurned by a lover and doesn’t know whether to turn away or reach out to touch her, trying to bring her back.
“Stefan!” I hissed from my artificial cave, “return it! Raise the mirrors!”
He drew in a breath, long and ragged; whether in pain or pleasure I didn’t know. “It calls me … it caresses me…” he said.
“Then tomorrow, tomorrow you will meet again; but for now, reset the device!”
“It’s been so long.” His fingers twitched again, like a man caught in an internal
battle. “So long—”
“For the sake of … raise the lever!” I called to him.
He withdrew his hand. The action seemed to calm him, leaving him serene. He raised his chin and closed his eyes as he turned his face upwards towards the falling light.
“Stefan! It is sunlight! It destroys us! You need to begin the experiment anew, under properly-controlled conditions. I will stay with you tomorrow and we can do it again properly.”
He laughed. “It really is a shock to the system, Kenneth.” He took a deep breath and ran his hand over his face, still turned upwards to the sky.
“Does it hurt?”
“I think it might. But then again, it might not.”
“Might not? Don’t be ridiculous, you should know. Raise the shutters!”
He raised his hand again towards the lever. “It’s overwhelming. There are so many sensations.”
“I can imagine. In fact it’s all I intend to do. Let’s end this for the day, come at it tomorrow after you’ve rested.”
“I’ve come too far. It’s like I have too much sun in me now. I remember so many things that I have forgotten. Like warm grass. I wonder if it is still the same.”
His hand jerked out and, with a click, the lever dropped, not just down once, but spastically rocked up and down in place as it ratcheted out its line. The crystals descended, spinning further away from each other as they dropped. They hit the end of their lines and jerked at full extension, bouncing on their wires.
Stefan fell into the chair in symphony with their awkward choreography, his arms hanging over the overstuffed arms. He sat still, not moving at all save for one or two raises of his chest as he inhaled the warm air of the room and bathed in the brilliant light.
He said nothing and neither did I. I wanted to but knew not what to say. I listened for anything, any word, any breath, any clue of what was happening. Perhaps the truth was that I felt disturbing the silence would upset some delicate balance that allowed him to survive. His body neither twitched nor writhed in pain. I saw no smoke, nor smelt burning flesh. There was nothing more to say, and nothing I could do.
And so the silence held through the day, the arc of sunlight tracing a path across my door frame making my room an impromptu sundial marking the passage of time. I huddled in the dark watching Stefan’s silent form. When finally darkness fell I emerged and straightened myself out, gathering my dignity as well as I could.
When I touched his skin he was warm, surprisingly, like the newly dead, rather than what we truly were. Yet, he was as dead as the night he had been reborn. I bit my finger and held the blood to his lips, but he had passed beyond the place where even my old blood might reach him.
What to do? Mourn the passing of a friend? Regret the loss of years full of age and wisdom? I didn’t know. Death was so easy and familiar, but there he sat, not as dust, or a hunted villain, a bloodthirsty fiend, or a misunderstood monster; he sat propped up just as any dead man might. The most unexpected of all ends.
I turned to the machine and lay my hand on the limp and lifeless lever. Did he let it run on purpose or was this an accident? I will never know for certain. In either case, it was clear that my next action was simply to destroy this device before it did any further harm.
It was the only appropriate response.
Slowly I began to wind the crank, absently watching as the mirrored triangles rose upward like glittering spiders climbing their webs.
Perhaps, as in folk tales of old, they served as the arachnids that ascended and descended their webs again and again, messengers between heaven and earth. Perhaps just as his strange mechanical spiders brought the sun down to Stefan, they carried the pieces of his lost soul up, weaving them into their webs under the purifying heat of the sun.
Just perhaps.
Quid Pro Quo
By Tanya Huff
“That first dose will keep him out for four or five hours and I can safely give him two, maybe three more without ill-effects.” Setting the syringe aside, he pulled a key ring from the discarded jacket and passed it back without turning. “Search the house. If you find her, restrain her, and bring her directly here.”
“Restrain her, boss?”
“I suggest you use a generous amount of duct tape.”
There were people in the house. Two of them. Given that their years together had taught her all the rhythms of his life, Vicki could say with confidence that neither of the hearts currently pounding out barely-contained fear about two and a half meters above her head belonged to Metropolitan Toronto Police Detective Mike Cellecui — which was interesting, because the house did.
As she slid out the end of the packing crate, an alarm went off, freezing her in place. Watch alarm probably. Maybe cell phone.
“Shit! Sunset!”
They were speaking quietly — high emotion but low volume. Not that it mattered.
“So what? She’s not in here.”
“You one hundred percent positive about that, Steve? You sure that she’s not tucked in between the floors or buried in the insulation in the attic or behind a false wall?”
Whoever he was, he wasn’t stupid, Vicki acknowledged as she lifted the section of the false wall away and moved out into the crawlspace. This was unfortunate because he headed toward the door as he spoke, his footsteps and Steve’s beating a fast tattoo against the floor.
Fast enough to survive?
Good question.
The crawlspace slowed her a little — at just under a meter high it had been chosen for safety not speed of exit. Out into the laundry room. Up the stairs as the door closed. Across the kitchen in time to see Steve and the smart guy throw themselves into the car they’d parked in the driveway.
Also smart. Parking in the driveway made them look like they were friends visiting and gave them faster access to their wheels if, say, they’d stayed a little past sunset and had to haul ass or die.
Vicki’d bet the smart guy wasn’t planning on letting Steve drive and was therefore not the short, bearded white man but the taller, clean-shaven black man sliding behind the wheel. She’d have been inclined to say they didn’t look like criminals except she’d been a cop long enough, back before it had come down to change or die, to know criminals didn’t actually have a look.
She could have caught them before they got the engine started. A closed car door would have meant squat to her but the whole sleeping naked thing made her hesitate a moment too long. February in and of itself didn’t mean a lot but she could hear Peter Yuen and his sister arguing as they headed up the driveway of the house next door and flashing the neighbor’s teenagers would definitely cause trouble for Mike.
As the black Jetta sped away, she considered the few inarguable facts she had. Not only did Smart-guy and Steve have a pretty damned good idea of what she was but also thought they knew where she spent the day and were willing to break into a police officer’s house in order to do something about it.
The edge of the counter cracked under her grip.
“Just what I need,” she growled, heading back to the crate for her phone. “A pair of fucking 21st century Van Helsings. Like my life isn’t complicated enough.”
Of the two halves of her life, maintaining some semblance of a normal relationship with Detective Mike Celluci seemed to be giving her the most problems. It required careful socializing with people who’d known them before she’d changed, and a safety net of lies complex enough to give the most jaded politician pause. The creature of the night thing, that she had down.
Never growing old had lost a little of its shine as she watched Mike’s hair grey and the lines around his eyes deepen but, basically, being stronger and faster, being able to deal with the human and not-quite-human things that haunted the nights of a big city seemed a fair trade for being helpless between sunrise and sunset.
Or had been a fair trade.
Until today.
Still naked, she headed back upstairs, listening to Mike’s phone go straight to voice mail. Th
eoretically, he finished at three and by 5:47 PM shouldn’t be doing anything that would keep him from answering. And anyone who believed cops had half a hope in hell of keeping regular hours was in a prime position to buy some Saskatchewan beach front property.
“We have a situation.” A situation; their personal code for someone knows. “Call me as soon as you can. Oh, and I’m heading into the office so you can meet me there.”
She couldn’t stay at the house. Not and think clearly.
Pausing by the notepad on the fridge, she scrawled down the four numbers on the license plate that she remembered — AAK, blank, dash, blank, blank 2 — then went into the bedroom to dress. Half her clothes were here, half at her office downtown. She hadn’t spent the day there for months but the belief that she maintained two separate residences allowed for a greater plausible deniability when “friends” couldn’t find her before sunset.
Smart-guy and Steve hadn’t been subtle in their search. Both bed and dresser had been shifted and both closets emptied enough to check the back walls. They didn’t bother moving anything too small to hide a body.
“Definitely knew what they were doing,” she snarled, yanking on a pair of jeans.
She repeated the sentiment a few minutes later, slamming the kitchen door behind her and locking it. It was the door Smart-guy and Steve had come in through, and they’d taken the time not only to pick the lock on the door but also the lock holding the chain, rather than take a pair of bolt cutters to it. The cold, and the pungent hand lotion used by whichever one of them had actually handled the door, made it difficult to get any kind of a scent and they’d both obviously been wearing gloves while they were in the house. Winter clothes blocked most of the fear sweat.
Scent would have allowed her to pick them out of a crowd regardless of how good a look she’d got at them. As it was, she might recognize their voices, but that was damned little to go on.
Still, she’d found other men with less.
“Picked the wrong damned vampire to stake this time,” she growled, forcing herself to relax her grip on the steering wheel before she broke it. Again.