And in the middle of all this stood a woman.
She stood beneath the flickering light of a chandelier, which held what seemed like dozens of candles. Beneath this illumination, her appearance wavered, so it seemed cast from shadows and light. Like Terence, she was deathly pale, but unlike Terence, there was a kind of warmth to her beauty. There was none of the ferocity that made Terence at once so off-putting and so attractive. She had a mane of black hair that flowed over her bare shoulders and a fine-boned face, porcelain, the dark eyes glowing. Her lips were full and red and her smile, directed only at him, was composed of tiny, pearly teeth. Edward was transfixed, pulled into her gaze. For moments, everything vanished around him, including Terence. There was an odd connection in their eyes, one he had never before experienced. The woman wore a clinging, wine-colored velvet dress that exposed her shoulders, but hung and puddled on the floor. The dress was liquid in the way it clung to her; it could not have been more revealing if she had stood naked before him. Again, the urge to capture this woman on canvas was fierce, right here, in this unnatural light. He wondered if he had the ability to make a painting glow the way she did.
Terence was nudging him. “Edward? Edward, my dear. I thought you didn’t swing that way.”
“What?” As if he had been awakened from a dream, Edward turned to Terence, who was grinning at him.
“I’d like to make proper introductions, if you don’t mind. This, my friend, is Maria.”
The woman moved forward. She had been as placid and immobile as the sculptures surrounding her and if it had not been for her eyes, he might have doubted she was even alive. She extended her hand and Edward reached out to grab it. Surprisingly, the flesh was supple and warm and her touch felt like a current of electricity going through him. Edward snatched his hand away, stunned. He gaped at her.
“Don’t be afraid.” Her voice was surprisingly deep and resonant; their cavernous surroundings made it even more so. She reached it and encircled his hand with her own once more.
Edward lost himself in the warmth and the satin texture of her skin. “I’m not afraid.” He wanted to say more, like tell her he was awed more than fearful, but words like that might only be taken as pretense. “I’m very happy to meet you, Maria.”
She squeezed his hand, released it. “Are you hungry, Edward? I’ve just eaten, but there’s plenty more.” She laughed. “All of it quite delicious.”
Edward looked to the steaming cauldron and sniffed the air. The roasting meat smell made him sick. Whatever was roiling inside the pot, he was certain, would not be something he’d want to force down his gullet. “I’m not hungry right now. But thank you.” He smiled. “Maybe later.”
“Perhaps a different form of sustenance, then?” Terence stepped forward. In his hand was the little carved wooden pipe.
“Oh Lord,” Edward said. “Not that again.”
Maria laughed again and her laughter lent an aura of normalcy to this strange meeting. “Your reaction is common. Just take it easy. A little bit of this goes a long, long way…at least for those not used to it.”
Terence fired up the bowl, took a hit, and held it out to Maria. She snatched it away from him and offered it to Edward. The bud inside was glowing orange, giving off the essence of incense. “How rude you are, Terence! Our guest! Our guest!”
Edward swallowed. The smell alone was intoxicating and Maria’s effort to be hospitable, he felt, could not be refused. He took the pipe from her hands and drew in tentatively, letting the smoke enter his lungs slowly, where he imagined it rolling inside him like a fog.
“That’s my boy,” Terence said softly.
Mutely, Edward watched as Maria took the pipe and drew in a huge lungful of smoke, only to emit it moments later. The smoke spiraled upward, to be lost among the shadows claiming the cavern’s ceiling.
In seconds, Edward felt his mind go numb; his face felt as if it were vibrating. His body filled with warmth. All of this was very pleasant and he giggled.
“It doesn’t take long, does it?” Maria took his hand once more. “Why don’t you come over here and sit down?”
Edward thought that sounded like a very good idea, indeed. He let Maria lead him across the space and, like a child, allowed himself to be folded into a sitting position on the settee. Across the room, Terence was ladling a bowl of something from the pot. As it slid from the ladle to the earthenware bowl in his hand, Edward could make out pieces of meat almost raw in a deep, viscous red broth. It made him want to gag.
Terence brought the liquid to his lips and slurped some up. He took a few more bites and then held the bowl up to Edward. “Are you sure you don’t want some? It’s delicious. Maria is a wonderful cook. She’s Italian. They know how to put food together.”
Maria was smiling at him, and Terence noticed the large, strong nose, the raven hair again, and how those and her other features conspired to create something from southern Italy. Perhaps, he thought, the broth was red merely from tomatoes. He thought not, but it was easier to entertain himself with such pedestrian fancies.
Edward closed his eyes for a moment, feeling an odd floating sensation. Beneath that, there was a sudden—and acute—hunger. “What’s in the soup?” he asked, tongue thick.
Maria answered, “A bit of this, a bit of that.”
Terence snorted. “A little of her, a little of him.”
Edward shuddered.
“He’s joking, of course. It’s simply pork, with a few vegetables, a little basil, some Roma tomatoes, lots of Chianti.”
His repulsion faded. Edward reached out for the bowl. “Maybe just a little.”
Terence handed it to him and Edward’s fear was overcome by a hunger that grew more relentless with each passing second. He dug into the soup. The meat was surprisingly tender, as if it had been cooked for a long time. And, yes, he could taste tomatoes, and wine, and herbs. Never mind the coppery tang beneath all this. Perhaps that metallic note had been transferred from the pot in which the stew had been cooked.
He finished quickly and set the bowl down on the floor.
“A little capper, then?”
Edward took the proffered pipe from Terence and drew in more deeply this time. The smoke hit him quickly and he lolled back, supine, on the settee.
“Let’s make you more comfortable,” Maria said, kneeling at his feet and beginning to unlace his boots. Edward made a vague purring noise, lifting his foot slightly to make it easier for Maria to remove his boots.
Terence moved in close and began to unbutton his shirt. His hands felt smooth and, at last, warm against his bare skin. Edward could do nothing but lie there, barely lifting his limbs as he was relieved of his clothing. Whatever happened, Edward was certain, would be wonderful.
He lay naked before them, watching as each shed their clothes. Their bodies were so beautiful, crafted from marble. He couldn’t wait to taste them: to kiss, to suck, to feel the tenderness of their embraces.
He closed his eyes and surrendered.
Chapter Eleven
2004
Elise is alone. There is only a wan light, barely dispelling the shadows, not even enough to really see anything. Elise curls into herself, almost fetal. She isn’t so sure she wants to see anything. There is a vague, sick dread filling her up. The terror isn’t rational, but knowing this doesn’t make it any less real.
Elise scrunches her eyes together and puts her hands over her ears. She can hear squeaking and the restless fluttering of leathery wings. Bats. They hang from the ceiling above her and their tiny, skin-crawl inducing movements tell her they are readying themselves for flight. But before they fly away, they will be hungry, and the heat of her, she’s certain, will rise up like an aura around her, attracting them. In fact, the smell of her flesh, the warmth of her body, and the pulse of her blood beneath it all is probably like light to a moth and their tiny twitterings are like gossip, word spreading fast that there is a small feast here.
She cringes as she feels a small bony c
law on her shin. She draws her leg in toward herself, shaking the tiny, almost weightless creature off. But it’s gone for only a second. Like a fly, it hovers then lands on her again. This time, it’s brought a friend.
It’s only seconds before she feels the puncture of their tiny teeth. And then, almost as one the whole group arises and covers her, all fluttering wings, ember-glowing eyes, and razor sharp teeth. Piercing.
And Elise screams and screams. Screams until one of them ventures near her open mouth to nip at her lips and then her tongue, where the blood is sweeter. It squirms further inside, so she can’t close her mouth, so she can’t scream, so her eyes are stuck open in dumbstruck horror.
Elise awakens. Her face is slick with sweat and she’s trembling. She doesn’t know where she is. Her arms are still pinwheeling, trying to bat away the dark, furry shadows that covered her moments ago.
Gradually, her racing heart slows its frantic beating. Her breathing slows to normal respiration. The sweat on her body begins to cool.
Slowly, she focuses, and Maria is above her, looking down, dark eyes alive with concern. She’s holding a cool cloth to Elise’s forehead. Elise gets up on one elbow, and the room spins. She returns her head to the pillow and lets Maria continue her ministrations. The cool touch of the cloth and Maria’s gentle demeanor are comforting, yet they seem like a lie. A part of her wants to return to her nightmare. In a dream, at least for Elise, there’s always a sense of unreality, that with enough will, she could awaken and escape. Being bathed in cool water by a beautiful, but oddly cold and hard woman is surreal, but Elise knows it’s happening. She’s lying on a red velvet settee near the fireplace. She turns her head and can see the huddled forms of Terence and Edward, still asleep in the huge canopy bed, bodies intertwined. Terence’s arm lies protectively over Edward’s shoulder. But they don’t move. They are as still as corpses. Elise doesn’t want to think about the dark stains here and there on their faces. She doesn’t want to think about Elise’s teeth.
“Better?” Maria whispers. “You fainted, but were only out for a few minutes.” Maria moves the cool cloth around Elise’s fevered face. She smiles. Gone are the rows of tiny fangs. Elise wonders if she ever really saw them. Her face is clean, smooth and white as a marble tombstone. Only the fire in her dark eyes breathes life into her countenance. “Do you feel all right now?”
“Yes.” Elise’s tongue is thick in her mouth, a speech impediment. “Could I have some water?”
Maria doesn’t move, yet suddenly she holds a cut crystal tumbler of water. Elise gulps it. She is parched; she feels almost dry from within. While she drinks, she casts around for something to say. She feels numb, her mind buzzing and empty. Finally, she settles for the truest, simplest course.
“What’s going on, Maria?” She isn’t certain she wants an answer, at least not a truthful one. She is as thirsty for lies as she was for the water. Even if she knows it’s not the truth, any sort of somewhat rational explanation will calm her. At least she can tell herself that whatever Maria spoon-feeds her must be the truth. Why would she lie? All sorts of absurd notions run through her mind, involving suggestions of the supernatural or insanity (hers or theirs, she’s not sure). None of these notions seem plausible, yet how does one explain?
Maria smoothes Elise’s hair back away from her face and presses her gently back on the couch. Elise allows herself to recline, accepts the kiss, cold, from Maria’s lips. “I’m going to tell you the truth now. But you won’t believe it. Not at first, anyway.
“I know this idea has come to you and that you have probably rejected it. I can’t blame you. Most of you with your modern ideas and technology have no concept of things lying beneath the surface of palpable reality. Gone are the notions of romance…of the inexplicable. But you, my love, are an artist. And artists are the only ones that understand things not explained by science or numbers. You—or at least most of you—rely more on intuition. That’s why we like to traffic with creative humans. I hope you understand us, because it’s rare I find a mortal who does.”
Oh now, this is getting too weird. I don’t know if I want to hear any more. Hearing words like “mortal” and “human” used in the context of conversation, as if referring to something foreign, makes her head pound and induces her desire to flee. She takes another sip of water, gets to a half-sitting position again, testing her strength. The best thing to do, she knows, is to put her feet to the floor and walk right out of here before Maria can continue. But the semi-erect position brings her a new wave of dizziness and perhaps in a moment, Maria will laugh, tell her she’s joking. Elise lies back down, staring up at Maria, like a child waiting for the rest of a bedtime story.
“A mortal? What are you talking about?” The room is closing in on Elise, almost as if the walls are alive and able to move closer to one another. Her breath quickens again, close to panting. The panic is rising. She thinks of horror stories about vampires and blood being leeched from helpless, terrified people. Her synapses fire with red-cloaked imagery, making her tremble, run hot and cold all at once.
The answer, it turns out, is simple. Maria smiles. “We are vampires.” Maria leans close to Elise. “I know it sounds absurd. And the stuff of legend, of your modern-day horror movies, is mostly untrue, stories made up to frighten, to entertain. But vampires do exist, few in number, and we are three of those few. I don’t know if we’re really the ‘living dead’ as some have called us, or if we’re just different—a new kind of animal, an organism born out of the carcass of a dead human being. Maybe we’re just another form of evolution, something as much a part of nature as you are. Maybe supernatural is a word that shouldn’t be applied to us. Perhaps ‘supernatural’ should be reserved for ghost stories.”
She pauses. The words hang in the air like dust motes dancing in sunlight. Elise wants to laugh, but there is no humor in her desire. It is the giddy laugh of hysteria, just before a shriek. She shakes her head, trying to keep the despair at bay. “Please don’t do this, Maria. It’s been so long since I’ve had anyone in my life. Please don’t turn out to be insane; don’t turn yourself into some Anne Rice heroine.”
Maria laughs. “Oh, that’s a rich one. When one of us is feeling blue, we pick up one of those Anne Rice books and we laugh and laugh.” Maria runs the back of her hand across Elise’s cheek. “I do love you. I knew that underneath all the angst and the existential torment, there was someone who could make me laugh. I’m good at sensing these things.” She grows serious once more. “But it’s true, Elise. We are what I’ve said. We need human blood to exist. I know you saw the blood on our faces. I apologize for that; we are such messy eaters. But sometimes we just get so hungry and we forget our manners.”
Elise wonders if this is for real. She wants to laugh, too, to let Maria know she’s in on the joke. She wishes it were a joke. “You’re joking with me, right?” Elise already knows the answer, but a part of her still holds out hope for the finger in the ribs, the confession of morbid punch lines and misguided mirth.
“For your sake, I wish I could say what I’m telling you is all a joke. But we both know it isn’t. How would I explain away what you saw earlier? My fangs are efficient tools, nothing more.” She takes Elise’s hand in hers, squeezes. “Feel that? Feel the cold? No warmth runs through my veins. Surely you’ve noticed.”
Elise nods. Hot, sour bile rises at the back of her throat. This cannot be. She has been alone too long. The streets have warped her. This too is a dream. But the hand in her own feels real enough, solid. In fact, its icy hardness reminds Elise of stone. She yanks her hand back, recoiling at the dryness, the chill. “But sometimes,” she sputters, “sometimes, you feel warm.” Please, Elise thinks, give me something, anything, to cling to. Half-truths, lies…
Patiently, Maria takes her hand gently again and presses it to her breast, inside the robe. The skin gives only slightly. “Feel that?”
Elise doesn’t want to acknowledge what Maria is trying to tell her. “What? I don’t feel
anything.”
“Exactly.”
Elise pulls her hand away and turns to hide her face in the crushed velvet of the settee. There’s no heartbeat, no matter how hard she presses her hand; there is no thump of a beating heart beneath her flesh.
Muffled, Maria’s voice comes to her. “Elise, in spite of the fangs, in spite of what we have to do to survive, there’s nothing to fear. All of us, me especially, admire you. We care about you, your art. You’re brilliant. Brilliance we don’t often see. Especially as time passes. We would never harm you.”
Elise turns back. The beauty of Maria’s face, her body, the shine in her eyes…she’s the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen. And even though her body is cold, she radiates warmth, and intelligence, and understanding, understanding Elise has not yet encountered in anyone else.
“Terence, Edward, and I have been together for a long, long time. Ages. I know this will sound fantastic, but I have been with Terence for about two hundred years. Edward has only been with us for around sixty or so. He is still new to all of this. He can tell you, though, that when we find someone rare, someone special, like you, we don’t hurt them.” Maria lies down beside Elise, fitting her body against Elise’s back, following the contours of Elise’s body with her own. “I want you to know about us. Let me share with you a little of what’s important. Little by little, our whole story will emerge, especially if you stay with me.” There is something plaintive in Maria’s voice as she speaks these words.
Elise tries to relax, closing her eyes as Maria spins her tale.
“First, it’s rare we forge any actual connection with human beings. It usually doesn’t work out. And, don’t hate me for this, but in order to truly survive, to live, we have to look at humans as food.” Maria rolls her eyes and grins wickedly. “It’s funny: the more they ‘progress’ the easier it is to look at them as entrées rather than people. It’s like the whole race gets dumber and dumber with each advance in technology. I wish I could tell you how many victims Terence alone has taken when he comes upon one on a cell phone. They hardly notice him until he’s biting into their neck. I can’t imagine what the person on the other end of the call thinks. No signal! Searching!”
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