My Love Lies Bleeding

by Alyxandra Harvey

  “Hi. I know you’re busy so I’ll be quick,” I said, wrinkling my nose at the familiar odor of formaldehyde and rubbing alcohol with a tinge of hay. There hadn’t been hay stored in this barn for nearly a hundred years, but apparently that dusty smell never really went away. “Any progress with the Hypnos?”

  “These things take time, you know that.” He added a drop of blue liquid to a slide and slipped it under a microscope. “Just like I know that’s not why you’re really here.”

  “I’m sorry I let him get away.”

  He looked up. “It’s hardly your fault— even I would follow orders if I got a mouthful of Hypnos. It’s very potent, Lucy.”

  “I know.”

  “Now, what can I do for you?”

  I bit my lip. “I want to know about the bloodchange.”

  “You know about the bloodchange.”

  “No, I don’t. I know it’s the big bad and everyone’s freaked out, but that’s it. And every time I ask Solange, she tells me not to worry.”

  “And she’s right.”

  “Please.” Apparently I wasn’t above begging. “I just want to understand it so I can help.”

  He smiled gently. “Unfortunately, there’s not much you can do to help, my dear. This is Solange’s battle.”

  “Solange is my best friend,” I said stubbornly. “So it’s my battle too.”

  Something in my face must have convinced him I was going to make a nuisance of myself until I got what I wanted, because he finally sighed and said, “All right, Lucy. Have a seat.”

  I sat quickly, before he could change his mind.

  “The bloodchange is still a bit of a mystery,” he admitted. “I’ve been doing research and experiments to better understand our family’s special challenge, but with varying degrees of success. It’s not strictly scientific, nor is it strictly supernatural, so we have as many questions as answers. There are only a few other families who can procreate like we do. All other vampires are made, not born. Technically, the Hel-Blar are made the same way; it’s only that they have a more violent transformation, without guidance or mentoring until it’s too late.”

  “Are they as scary as everyone makes them out to be?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do the Hounds get sick too?”

  “In a manner of speaking, though not like us. Our change is genetic, you understand. As near as we can explain it, when our young reach puberty, the flux in hormones triggers the change. It’s like the body attacks itself and then shuts down— until it is reawakened by drinking vampire blood. Our children need to be very strong to fight through it and win.”

  I swallowed. “But mostly everyone gets through it, right?”

  “Mostly.”

  “Why do some go crazy? Is that a hormone thing, too? Like permanent PMS?”

  He smiled briefly. “Not quite. It’s just that some are stronger than others. The bloodchange is so difficult, some just can’t hold on to themselves. If they get only just enough blood to survive, the thirst takes them over and it’s all they can think about, like the Hel-Blar.”

  “Are you telling me Solange could turn into one of them if she’s not strong enough?”

  “I wish I knew for sure. The more likely outcome would be that she might simply die and not reawaken.”

  “This sucks.” I scowled. “But Solange is totally strong enough. She won’t die for real and she won’t go crazy.” If I said it enough, it would be true.

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Geoffrey said soothingly. “She has strong genes, which is an asset. Drinking the blood from someone of the same lineage will restore her enough to win the battle. Her body won’t attack the new blood, but it can’t create its own supply either. At first, she’ll need to drink every day to supplement, less as she gets older.”

  “She’s not going to get older.” I tried not to dwell on the fact that one day I’d be wrinkled and wearing dentures and she’d still look young enough to be my granddaughter. We had way bigger worries.

  “She won’t age physically, no. At least not for a few years, after her body completely adjusts to its new form. I’m afraid I don’t really understand the science behind this adaptation yet. My theory is that it’s another genetic survival mechanism: we reach our optimum age, where we look the strongest. It’s a way to scare off predators, like making yourself look bigger to scare off a black bear.”

  “Oh. And her special pheromone thing is a survival mechanism too, right? How everyone’s all obsessed with her?”

  “Yes. It’s a mating thing. Everyone is wondering if she’ll be able to carry a vampire child to term.”

  “Gross.”

  “Study your Darwin, my girl.”

  As if. “One more thing, why are the Hel-Blar blue?”

  “It’s a side effect, like their fangs. Their extra fangs enable them to take their first . . . meals . . . with such violence and greed, it leaves them, in effect, engorged and bruised.”

  “Oh.” I had to learn to stop asking these questions. I never liked the answer. I swallowed. “Thanks. I guess I should let you get back to work.”

  “Yes, Darwin’s going to get a little help when I’m through.” He turned back to his microscope and I knew he’d pretty much forgotten I was there by the time I reached the door. I didn’t feel better exactly, but at least I didn’t feel like I was the only one in the dark anymore.

  I drove home, mind racing. My house seemed too quiet somehow, too empty. Mom’s Kali statue watched as I put out several bowls of water. It had to last until my parents came back—just in case. It felt melodramatic to think like that, but I needed to be prepared. Solange would have been happy hiding out in some deserted cabin until this was all over, but I wanted to fight. My parents still didn’t understand my violent tendencies considering the way I was raised: meditating, eating tofu, and taking long road trips in the middle of the school year to see petroglyphs or observe moose. My mom’s rabid tolerance extends not just to people but all species—vampires included. Helena and my mom were best friends in high school but drifted apart when Mom went to college and then traveled around the world to find herself. It was ten years before Mom came back to her hometown. One night she went on one of her full- moon hikes and ran into Helena, who was pregnant with Solange and drinking the blood of a deer Liam had killed to help sate her cravings. Apparently, that kind of thing had only happened when Helena was pregnant with Solange and not any of her seven brothers.

  Anyway, no amount of vampire mind control was going to make my vegetarian mom forget that particular sight. Helena couldn’t hide from my mom, and their friendship was rekindled, which was how we came to be so close and comfortable with the Drakes. More comfortable than they were with us sometimes— case in point: Nicholas.

  Nicholas.

  I really wished he’d been a bad kisser. It would have been much easier to forget it ever happened, to not wonder if it might happen again.

  “Focus,” I told myself sternly, locking our front door, double-checking it. I watched every bush and tree suspiciously on my way back to the safety of my car. The tires squealed, sending up clouds of dust as I sped out of there. The back of my neck didn’t relax completely until I’d reached the outskirts of town, with its candy-colored galleries and ice-cream parlors. The area was popular with artists, environmentalists, and homesteaders like my folks. There were few places with so much wilderness all around—dense forests and hidden waterfalls and even wolves, sometimes, singing on cold winter nights. The combination of the untamed countryside and the fact that everyone here was pretty private and accepting of alternative lifestyles made it a perfect place for vampires to live in undiscovered. At least I thought they were undiscovered. If not, no one talked about it. Folks here were far more likely to get heated over conspiracy theories and nuclear waste sites.

  First, I stopped by the drugstore for nose plugs and I cleared them out entirely. The cashier didn’t even blink. Then I went to the hardware store for hunting and camping supplies,
which were big business in town. I felt a little silly, I admit, kind of like the comic book character I’d accused Kieran of emulating. But I was determined, too. If there was anything I’d learned from my parents, besides how to chop wood and prime the water pump, it was that you did what needed doing and you didn’t complain about it or pretend it wasn’t necessary. Afterward, I felt perfectly justified in rewarding myself with a double- shot cinnamon latte. And since my parents weren’t there, I didn’t even use soy milk. That was downright rebellious in our family. I nearly snorted— I was going back to a house where blood was sipped like a fine wine and vegetarianism wasn’t exactly an option. I’d already made Solange promise she wouldn’t drink any bunnies dry.

  I was halfway back to my car when I felt the warning prickle. I swallowed, forced myself not to speed up or slow down, to keep my pace even and oblivious. There was a family eating hot dogs on a bench, someone else on a bicycle, two girls walking a tiny teacup Chihuahua. There was something else as well, that indescribable feeling of being watched, followed. I turned the corner, the green lawns of a park on my left, my car farther down on the right. No other pedestrians. The sun was making the sidewalk feel soft under my sandals. Almost definitely not a vampire then, it was too hot and bright.

  There was the barest tremble from the hazel thicket. I wouldn’t have noticed it at all if I hadn’t been so paranoid about every single thing around me. Adrenaline shivered through me. I hoped I still looked like any other distracted girl, sipping my latte and juggling shopping bags. I waited until I was right next to the hazel before I chucked my latte and hollered, launching myself at whoever was skulking around back there. We went down in a tangle of flailing limbs and blistering curses. I saw black cargo pants, black nose plugs, black eyes. His code name was probably Shadow.

  Kieran.

  CHAPTER 7

  Solange

  I went out back to my little shed. The sun was soft on the clapboard siding and the kiln tucked into the back. I did need my sunglasses but at least I didn’t feel as tired as I had last night. I knew that when it came to me, my entire family went all overprotective and dramatic, so it was hard to know how many symptoms on their long list I could really expect.

  I let myself into the studio and closed the door very deliberately. I wouldn’t think about it right now. It never helped anyway. What did help was burying my hands in clay and the rhythmic spinning of my pottery wheel. It was dusty and quiet in here, just how I liked it. The long window offered the distraction of the wild fields and forest when I needed them. My tools and chemicals were stored in plastic tubs; the walls were fitted with wooden shelves all but groaning under the weight of bowls and cups and oddly shaped vases. Lucy kept telling me I should take my stuff into the gallery shops by the lake to sell it. It wasn’t a bad idea. Though most of them did their business during the daylight hours, Lucy would make deliveries for me if I asked her to. It was something to think about.

  If I survived my birthday, of course.

  I scowled and attacked the clay. It was cool and obedient under my determined hands. I hated being frightened, almost as much as I hated being coddled. I worked until the sun was dipping slowly behind the trees. Geese flew overhead, honking. I wasn’t any closer to figuring out Kieran Black or the bounty or how to give in gracefully to the bloodchange, but at least I was calmer. And possibly hungry again. I wiped my hands clean and went outside, inhaling deeply the fragrance of roses and wild mint. I was thinking so hard I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings.

  First mistake.

  I might not have super hearing yet, but the arrow whistled so close to my head I could hear the air through the fletchings. It thunked into one of the oak trees, showering splinters. At the same time, someone crashed into me, curling around me like a particularly heavy parka.

  “Oof! What—”

  “Get down, you ijit!” It was Bruno. He only slipped back into his native Scottish accent when he was really pissed off . “Get in the damn house.” He ran me up the porch steps. I felt like the president of a small country under attack. All he needed was the ear transmitter and a pair of mirrored sunglasses. And a black suit— but I didn’t think he’d ever wear a tie, even for us. He looked just like what he was: an ex- biker with a shaved head to disguise the balding, and tattoos from shoulder to knuckle. He’d been working for us since before I was born. Bruno shoved me inside and slammed the door behind us.

  “Stay here,” he barked, running back out, shouting orders into a walkie-talkie. The gardens were quiet; even the birds were cheerfully oblivious. My heart was thumping wildly, making me feel dizzy. That arrow had been really close, too close. And only one organization used wooden arrows of that style.

  Helios-Ra.

  I wondered if it had been Kieran, skulking in the shadows, waiting for me to turn my back. The sun glittered on the gravel drive, the black iron fence. No vampire ancient enough to withstand this kind of a summer day would be able to sneak onto the property. Someone would have scented his pheromones.

  Bruno came back, eyeing me grimly. “The tunnels for you from now on, lassie.”

  “Did you get him?”

  “Not even a damned footprint.” He rubbed his head. “Get away from the window, Solange. It’s not safe.”

  “This is getting ridiculous,” I muttered.

  “Agreed,” he replied.

  “I’m going to the loft,” I told him peevishly.

  “Use the tunnel,” he repeated.

  I went down into the basement and used the short passageway that linked the house to the garage. The second floor had been converted into training space complete with floor mats, punching bags, a weight machine, and two treadmills. The back wall was covered with fencing gear and swords. I didn’t bother with the uniform or the mask since I was practicing on my own. I just needed the distraction. If pottery wasn’t enough to really calm me down, lunging and stabbing an imaginary foe would have to do. I took up my favorite sword, or foil as it was called in fencing.

  Out of habit I saluted my pretend opponent and bowed. Then I cross- stepped back and forward a few times to warm up. I lunged, I stabbed, I parried and circular parried and disarmed. I lunged again and again until my thigh muscles ached and sweat spiked my hair. I ducked right, I parried low, I jabbed high. Retreat, riposte, retreat, riposte.

  I felt better until I happened to glance out the window and saw Bruno going back into the house, dragging a huge bag full of packages and flowers. I tossed my foil aside and sprinted down the steps, through the tunnel and up to the front hall. I scowled at the open bag, panting and scowling.

  “What the hell is that?”

  “More gifts, lass,” Bruno said. “We’re finding them all along the property line.”

  For some reason, all those presents were really pissing me off. I jabbed my hand inside and pulled out postcards, a clump of daisies, something that looked like a Ziploc bag full of blood.

  “That’s disgusting.” I dropped it immediately. The light glinted off something silver and I pulled it out gingerly. It was an apple, perfectly crafted out of silver, with a leaf dangling from the stem. The delicate leaf was engraved with a name: Montmartre.

  I put the apple aside so I could wipe my hands completely clean of Montmartre cooties, and it teetered on the edge of the table. It hit the floor, and the top opened on tiny hinges I hadn’t seen. Blood poured out of the opening, thick and red. The coppery smell made me gag but I didn’t have time to otherwise react. I was too busy staring out the front window.

  “Where’s Lucy’s car?”

  CHAPTER 8

  Lucy

  “You asshole!”

  I didn’t think, just reacted with all the anger and guilt and worry I’d been carry ing around all day. I punched him right in the nose. He reared back, grabbing his face.

  “Shit, shit!”

  “That’s right, you sneaky bastard.” I leaped to my feet, panting. “Use me against my best friend, will you?”

  He reac
hed into his pocket. I got to mine first, took out the pair of nose plugs I’d stashed there, just in case, and I shoved them in.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” I snapped, smug as a cat with a mouthful of canary feathers. I was going to redeem myself, if I had to punch him ten more times to do it. My knuckles felt bruised, sore. Vindicated.

  There was the teeniest, tiniest possibility my mom was right about my temper.

  Kieran just blinked at me, bewildered. “Who taught you to punch like that?”

  I smiled grimly. “The Drakes.” He shifted, as if he was going to get up. “Uh-uh. You stay right there or I’ll scream so loud half the town will come running. You might be part of some secret club, but I can still get you arrested for being a creepy stalker.” I noticed the way he was trying to look at the back of my neck, and my wrists. “And what the hell are you doing now?”

  “You don’t have any scars.”

  “What?”

  He pushed himself up so he wasn’t sprawled in the dirt. His nose looked sore but I hadn’t actually broken it. “Bloodslaves have scars, from the feedings.”

  “Don’t use that word, it’s insulting. And it makes me want to kick you. Hard.”

  He held up his hands, palms out, as he stood up fully. I took a step back, raised a fist. I could see the hilt of a knife in the top of his boot.

  “You have to know that vampires murder people.” I could tell he was thinking about his father. Sometimes it was a real pain that my own father had encouraged such a strong sense of empathy in me. He couldn’t have taught me math?

  “Kieran, humans murder all the time. And the Drakes aren’t killers. They’re not Hel-Blar, they know how to control themselves.”

  “They’re all the same.”

  “Don’t make me punch you again. My hand already hurts.”