Dance Until Dawn

by Berni Stevens

  What was it with my dreams at the moment? Perhaps I should just never eat again, and then I’d have pleasant dreams. I’d be really skinny too.

  I went back into my bedroom, and looked around at yet more confusion. The duvet and the pillows had gone from my bed. Only the bare mattress remained to mock me. When had I done that? Why?

  A strange compulsion made me go to the window and look down to the street below. As I looked, a tall dark-haired man looked back up at me. His eyes reflected the light from the nearby street lamp, and his eerie gaze went through my body like a lightning bolt. Gasping, I clutched at the windowsill. I shut my eyes tightly, and when I opened them again, he was gone.

  I returned to the present, and discovered I was very close to the shop window, with my fingertips still pressed to its cold surface. I shivered and turned to find Will watching me.

  ‘You were outside my flat … ’

  ‘So your memory is beginning to return?’ Will looked pleased.

  ‘I couldn’t see myself in the bathroom mirror … ’

  ‘No shadows, no reflections.’

  ‘I’m not sure I can cope … ’

  ‘You will get used to it in time, I assure you.’

  ‘Well, at least I won’t have any more fat days.’

  He raised a dark brow.

  I was making an effort to regain some sense of proportion. Inside I was screaming – screaming so loud, and so hard, that I knew I’d never stop. I’d never be able to put makeup on again, or dry my hair in front of a mirror – even supposing I could get hold of something as trivial as a hair dryer. How would I ever know if I looked presentable enough to go out? What the hell did I look like now?

  Will regarded me seriously for a moment, then said gallantly, ‘I very much doubt you ever had any “fat days”, whatever they are.’

  ‘I had at least five a week. Dancers have to rehearse in front of full-length mirrors. There’s nothing quite like a studio full of skinny dancers to make you feel like Jabba the Hutt.’

  He favoured me with a slight smile but didn’t make any further comment, and we continued on up the hill. He probably had no idea who Jabba the Hutt was anyway, so my feeble attempt at a joke would have fallen flat.

  I slowed as we neared the place where Maxwell’s restaurant used to be. It was still a restaurant, noisy and busy as always, virtually seething with life. I could feel it.

  Will stood quietly watching me, his calm presence strangely soothing.

  ‘I used to come here a lot when it was called Maxwell’s, meeting friends for birthdays.’

  ‘Although you were always searching for that elusive something I believe, which I intend to provide.’

  I was amazed at his words. His utter confidence bordered on arrogance, considering the circumstances.

  ‘You are altogether too full of yourself.’

  He didn’t reply. After a few minutes’ silence, I tried again.

  ‘What makes you think I will ever want anything from you?’ My sarcastic tone would have wilted a lesser man, but Will merely turned to me and said calmly, ‘Vampire intuition.’

  Whatever the hell that was. We started to walk towards Jack Straw’s Castle. So many things had changed. I could remember when it had still been a famous pub, but unfortunately it had recently been redeveloped into luxury flats, and swiftly sold for exorbitant prices. Although, to be fair, who wouldn’t want the chance to live in a historic listed building, overlooking the Heath, yet still within walking distance of Hampstead Village and its shops? I’d have given a kidney to live there. Of course I realised undead kidneys might not be too useful, when all is said and done, so there was another money-making option out of the window.

  ‘A walk on the Heath would be good,’ Will suggested, mercifully interrupting my bizarre train of thought.

  I looked at him, horrified. ‘At this time of night? Are you mad? It’s not safe.’

  He laughed derisively at that. ‘Bogeymen going to get us?’

  ‘Well, muggers or even rapists might.’

  Still laughing, he shook his head. ‘Very unlikely, plus I am far more likely to be propositioned on the Heath than you are.’

  It would have to be one suicidal son of a bitch to try that.

  We went walking on the Heath, of course. There weren’t many people around, it was February after all. Most normal folk were indoors, snug in their centrally heated homes. Since I’d fed, some of the bone-deep coldness in my body seemed to have lessened, although my skin still felt cold to the touch.

  I looked at everything through new eyes, and heard so many different sounds with my heightened sense of hearing. It seemed as though all my senses had become enhanced, not just my hearing. I could smell the damp, cold earth. I could smell … people … and blood. A tremor shivered through me, and Will put a reassuring hand on my arm.

  I turned to look at him. ‘Is it the Thirst again so soon?’

  Suddenly, I felt more than a little worried that I might suddenly lose control, leap on an unsuspecting tourist and sink my shiny new fangs into him.

  He shook his head. ‘No, it is just your body reacting to the smell of blood. It is because you are newly fledged.’

  ‘You make me sound like a chicken.’

  He led the way towards Parliament Hill. We climbed to the top of the hill, and stood looking down at the lights of London, twinkling in the dark night. This had always been one of my favourite views, although I’d never been brave enough to venture here at night. What other secrets could possibly be lurking down there, in that teeming metropolis?

  ‘I wonder if there are any more vampires down there?’ I said aloud.

  ‘Twenty-five.’

  I looked at him in utter amazement. ‘How can you possibly know that?’

  He raised a dark brow at me as though I had no right to question him. ‘There are no vampires in London that I do not know about,’ he replied with a trace of arrogance. ‘London is my city, my territory, if you like.’

  ‘What are you then, some kind of king?’ I sounded flippant and wondered, too late, whether he’d be angry.

  ‘I am the Elder of this city.’ His reply was matter-of-fact. I had no idea what an Elder was, but it sounded important.

  ‘Why? Because you’re the oldest?’

  ‘The strongest.’

  I couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so I said nothing. Unusual for me. I wondered how come London wasn’t infested with vampires. Why wasn’t everyone a vampire?

  ‘Turning humans is against the law of this city,’ he answered my unspoken question. Again.

  ‘So how come you didn’t keep your fangs to yourself?’

  ‘There were … extenuating circumstances.’

  ‘One rule for you and another rule for the masses.’

  ‘If you like.’

  I looked unseeingly back down at the city. Of all the arrogant … extenuating circumstances? I fought against a rise of temper. The man was insufferable.

  To calm myself, I concentrated on the view below me, and inhaled the scents of the night.

  I could almost feel some of the pulses of the inhabitants below. I sensed their living bodies. I knew they were there. It was a most peculiar sensation. I had never realised, until now, that night smelt so very different from day. My nostrils flared, and the cold night air filled them again with its exotic, alluring scents. I dug my nails into the palms of my hands and breathed in the heady elixir of earth, people, animals and the fragrant, winter night air.

  I watched the headlights of the traffic moving far below, tiny specks of light that buzzed around the city like manic fireflies. A city literally pulsing with human life. Everyone with a purpose – except for me. I no longer had any purpose.

  I was conscious of Will’s cool presence at my back. I could
see him in my mind even though I faced the other way. Weirder and weirder.

  Why had he turned me? My head buzzed with unanswered questions. I wondered if there was a more sinister reason behind Will’s actions. Although I seriously doubted there could be anything much more sinister than murder or making vampires.

  I didn’t want to go back to that dank, dark cellar and I really, really didn’t want to be locked up again. But I had begun to realise that I actually didn’t have a choice. I was too new to survive the change alone. I really did need Will’s help. Not that I was ever going to admit that to him, he’d probably take it as an invitation for other things. He stood quietly at my side now, not attempting anything either verbally or physically, which could well be a first for him.

  Somehow, I knew we’d have to leave soon. I heard him strike a match, and turned to look at him. He smoked a cigarette while he watched me with an almost indulgent look.

  ‘We have to go soon.’

  ‘Must we?’ I turned back to look at the city again.

  ‘We will come again, I promise.’

  ‘You promise. What are your promises worth?’

  ‘I will always keep my promises to you. Whatever else you think of me, you need to know that I always keep my word.’

  I didn’t answer and he turned slowly to begin the walk down the hill, obviously confident that I would follow.

  I followed.

  There didn’t seem any other choice. After all, I didn’t have anywhere else to go. My friends thought I was dead, my flat almost certainly had new tenants in it by now, and more importantly I had absolutely no idea how to be a proper vampire. I couldn’t even feed properly. I certainly couldn’t see myself doing a ‘Countess Dracula’ on anyone in order to get blood.

  I suspected Will would have prevented my escape before I’d gone very far anyway, and that would have simply meant more arguing. I felt tired, more than a little strange, and certainly not strong enough to take on Will. Staying with him seemed the best option for the moment. I could wait.

  As we left the Heath, he again took hold of my arm and I was too tired, for once, to protest or even comment. I noticed he watched me intently, and felt surprised when he hailed a cab. He helped me in and swung in after me, giving the cab driver his address.

  ‘No tubes?’ I had to ask.

  He gave a slight shake of his head, and turned in the seat to look at me.

  ‘Are you feeling all right?’

  ‘Yeah, peachy.’ I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes.

  Soon we were back in Highgate, and the cab drew to a halt outside the back of the house. Will helped me out and paid the driver. He waited until the cab had disappeared around the corner, and then drew me towards the door in the garden wall.

  I stumbled.

  My legs felt sluggish and too heavy for me to move properly. I found it difficult to even put one foot in front of the other. Will caught me against him, and manoeuvred us both skilfully through the doorway, closing the door behind us.

  ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Dawn,’ came the terse reply.

  Had we really been out that long? I couldn’t remember.

  ‘Help me.’ I clawed desperately at the front of his jacket.

  He didn’t reply, merely scooped me up effortlessly and carried me inside to the cellar, where he placed me on the bed. All my limbs felt heavy and useless, as though my body had been pumped full of a strong anaesthetic, which slowly and relentlessly rendered me immobile. I realised I’d never been conscious at the approach of dawn before, and felt terrified now at the prospect.

  I looked for Will and found him close, looking down at me.

  ‘I’m afraid.’

  ‘I know.’

  He sat down next to me on the narrow bed, and took one of my hands in both of his. ‘There is nothing to fear, I promise you. Just close your eyes, give yourself to the dawn and rest. I shall see you at the next sunset.’

  ‘Don’t leave me … ’ How pathetic I sounded.

  ‘I shall be right here.’

  I could feel the dawn’s approach. A suffocating, strangled sensation gradually crept through my body. It felt leaden and immovable. My acute awareness of the different sensations terrified me, and my eyes opened wide again. Will immediately placed cool fingers on either side of my head and whispered words in Italian that I didn’t understand, although I felt strangely comforted by them. He continued to talk softly, lulling me as though I were a child, and eventually my eyes fluttered shut again. The dawn strengthened its hold.

  14 February

  St Valentine’s Day, a ridiculous Victorian obsession, yet a rather fitting date for our first walk together. I could hear so many different thoughts flitting through her head, poor child; she is still so afraid, so disoriented and still understandably angry.

  Later

  I stood watching her for a while. I knew that, I too, would soon have to retire. The dawn pressed against my brain, and my limbs felt weary. Even after three hundred years I must still succumb at some point.

  Elinor lay like a sleeping angel, and her newly washed hair fanned out across the pillow, like glorious living flames. Her thick eyelashes, several shades darker than her hair, cast little shadows on her flawless cheeks. God, she is beautiful. Part of me felt shame and sorrow for having wrought this existence on her, but the selfish, ruthless part of me felt only joy that she was here. With me. Had I not turned her, she would be but dust beneath the earth now, and that would have been a travesty. My own existence has been lonely for too long. I needed a companion and I chose her. That I gave her no choice, as she so accurately pointed out, does not—must not matter. I could not let her simply cease to exist, but she does not know that yet.

  I reached out tentatively to touch her cheek, and suddenly felt more of a predator than when I hunt. I withdrew my hand. For some reason she is making me feel everything more acutely than I have for decades. Can it be that she will make me a better man? A nicer monster?

  I could not ignore the insistence of the dawn any longer, and with a last look at my lovely captive I left the room, locking the door behind me. I did not think she would wake before me, but for my kind security has always been essential. How else would we have survived for so many centuries?

  I went upstairs to my own room and surveyed the elegant furnishings with ironic detachment. The large four-poster bed mocked me with its emptiness, and I grimaced as I took off my clothes and lay down to rest. Hopefully, someday soon, I will have my chosen companion here with me, but somehow I know it is not going to be an easy path.

  I am content with the progress this night though. I am pleased – nay, relieved – that she has at last taken some blood. Certainly, now she has the taste, the actual feeding should become easier for her.

  I find her more desirable each time I set eyes on her, and her constant rejection of me is eroding my soul. Contrary to mythical belief, vampires do have souls. Modern literature and films have changed us almost beyond our own recognition. Some of us are governed more by the presence of the soul than others. I suspect my little one will retain much of her soul. It is easy to spot the truly evil among us within a few hours of their rebirth and she is definitely not one of them. It is the main reason our laws demand that the maker should always take responsibility for its own fledgling and look after its schooling. I have not allowed any vampire to turn a human in London for many decades. It is too dangerous in a city such as ours.

  It would take but one young vampire to turn renegade and the city would be over-run in a relatively short time.

  As the Elder of the city of London, it is my responsibility to ensure that the other vampires adhere to our laws. Most of us feed only on the willing, or those who live on the streets. We rarely kill when we feed, to do so would be tantamount to greed and sheer blood lust. There is a
lso the risk of exposure should the body count rise. Fledglings tend to get carried away with the overwhelming taste of warm blood during the first few nights of their rebirth, and thus can easily kill. It would not take too many bodies being discovered drained of blood to regenerate the vampire myth and proclaim it as truth.

  It is actually forbidden to bring a human across without permission from the Elder of the city, but thankfully I do not have to explain my own actions.

  Unfair, perhaps, but lucky for me.

  I think the nights ahead will be difficult, but I remain optimistic. Elinor has begun to feed. I will not lose her.

  Who knows what the next sunset will bring.

  14 February, the previous year

  Highgate, London

  Valentine’s Day. The Victorians loved this day, they celebrated with handwritten poetry and gifts of flowers. I wonder how many of them realised the tradition stemmed from celebrations for an early Christian saint named Valentinus. Although, apparently, the first association with actual romance should be accredited to Geoffrey Chaucer in the Middle Ages.

  So, on Valentine’s night, I sit alone, writing this journal, just as I have done for more than three hundred years. Many things have changed over the centuries, not least the actual journal – and the writing implement. Perhaps one day I shall even use a computer, although the thought makes me smile.

  I do not indulge in self-pity, for I choose to live alone. I am dangerous. Too dangerous, perhaps, to live with others. As a vampire – or, more precisely, the Vampire Elder of London – my responsibilities are many and varied, such is the penance for eternal life.

  I have taken many lovers over the decades – a man is a man no matter how old he may be. But none have stayed. The human lovers perished, the vampires either left, or I tired of them. Never have I found the one true love for whom my non-beating heart yearns. Until … perhaps now – and I feel the urge to record my thoughts.

  The awakening passion I feel for the beautiful red-haired dancer I first noticed some weeks ago at the Adelphi Theatre has hit me hard and fast. For some reason I cannot erase her from my memory. She moves like a dream, her grace and beauty so bright – like a captive star. She holds me in her thrall, and I have since returned several times to watch her performance. She never disappoints.