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Mortality Bites
When I was dead, all I wanted was to be alive. Now that I’m human again, all I want to do is die.
Being alive is tough. Especially after 300 years of being a vampire. But now that I'm human again, I've decided to do what any 18 year old human girl does - go to university. I thought it would be a breeze ... after all, how many other students have the kind of life experience I have.
But after exactly one day of being a human university student, the only friend I made - an old librarian who was kind to me - was murdered. And not just murdered - ritually sacrificed. Looks like I'm going to have to dust off my huntress skills and test them out in a human body.
My name is Katrina Darling - ex-vampire, re-human-ated university student and totally pissed-off.
Part I
Prologue
TODAY—
“We disappointed them,” the monster says, pulling the ropes.
The old librarian groans in pain as the ropes force his arms and legs apart so he hangs like Leonardo da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man.
“Please,” the librarian mutters. “We didn’t disappoint them. The gods … they just left. That’s all.”
The monster gives a final tug of the ropes to ensure they are secure, then calmly walks past the librarian. “No, you’re wrong. We turned our backs on the old ways. We forgot the fundamental rule when appeasing the gods,” the old librarian’s torturer—the monster—says as it browses the library’s rare items display. It pauses on the item it wants, touching the cool glass with a light, almost careless finger. The monster’s lips crook up in satisfaction. “This modern world, with its iPads and smartphones, its Wikipedia and unlimited data … it forgot that this … all of this … is because they willed it. Without the gods, we would be monkeys picking the ticks off of each other’s backs. Stupid, arrogant modern world—to think that they actually believe they can go on without the gods.” With one powerful, angry fist, the monster breaks the display glass.
“Don’t do this. Please. It will not bring them back. Nothing will bring them back!”
The monster ignores the old man’s pleas, pulling the ancient obsidian blade from its stand. The monster caresses its tip. The blade is sharp and a tiny stream of red blood drips from where it tore into flesh. “Blood. We forgot about blood. About how it is the essence of true worship.”
Approaching the helpless librarian, the monster holds the blade aloft and starts muttering ancient ritualistic words.
“Stop this. Please. I beg you,” says the librarian, but he knows his pleas are useless. He’s read the history books; he knows what these old rituals entail. The fear and suffering of “that which is sacrificed”—him, in this instance—is part of this. According to the texts, the harder the one who is sacrificed holds on to life, the closer the gods pay attention. Mustering the last of his pride, he closes his eyes and silences his cries. Death is coming—there is nothing he can do about that. But at least he can deny this monster some of the satisfaction.
The creature opens its eyes and, lifting the ceremonial knife high above its head, it cries out an ancient incantation that no human ear has heard nigh on a thousand years.
As the blade punctures his heart, the librarian utters a silent prayer—not for the gods to intervene, he knows that is useless—but as comfort to himself in his last moments. After all, this old librarian was once a priest, and old habits … well, old habits do die hard.
Chapter 1
Vampires, Others, Professors and Football Players
YESTERDAY—
When I was dead, all I wanted was to be alive. Now that I’m human again, all I want to do is die. Or shrivel up and disappear. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.
It all started when I walked into Professor Hayes’ class and some smart aleck decided to open the drapes without any warning. Light streamed through the open window and I, of course, freaked out, jumping back to avoid the sun rays … and right into Justin Truly’s arms.
Justin Truly—Junior, McConnell Hall President, straight-A student and all-around hunk—and here I was in his arms, freaking out (did I mention I was freaking out?). And why? Because I was afraid of a little bit of natural light. Oh, the horror … the HORROR!
“Are you OK?” Justin asked.
“Yeah. Old habits die hard, I guess.”
“Old habits?” He lifted a curious eyebrow in my direction and my heart skipped a beat.
“Yeah …” I said, but to be honest his question hadn’t penetrated my brain. He was cute before, but that eyebrow lift … that eyebrow lift just upgraded him from cute to irresistible.
But then I remembered where I was. More importantly, I remembered who I was. A normal human girl—and not some three-hundred-year-old vampire. Well, ex-vampire. “Ahh, I mean … I was daydreaming and … the sudden appearance of the light startled me, and … well, I’m a jumper.”
Justin continued his oh-so-incredibly cute, curious-eyebrow trick. “I see. First-day jitters, huh?” He ran a hand through his thick, lush black locks and I just about died—again.
“I’m working on it. But like I said—”
“Old habits—yeah, I got it.” He gave me a wry smile and extended his hand out. “I’m Justin.”
“I know,” I said, staring down at his perfectly formed fingers as if Jesus Christ Himself were offering me a drink from the Holy Grail.
“And you are …?”
I looked up again. “Me?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, you.”
I shook his hand. “Ahh, Kat. Katrina. Kat.” Smooth, girl. Smooth.
“Kat. I see you are aptly named.”
I gave him a curious look of my own, sans the eyebrow trick. Harder than it looked.
“You know, old habits and all. You always land on your feet.”
“Feet?” I asked. “Oh, I get it. Because I’m a jumper. And a cat. Kat.”
“Bingo,” he said, shooting his pointy finger my way.
What did that mean? Did he just shoot me dead? Figuratively speaking, of course. Or was the finger a good thing? Like he was acknowledging me in some kind of affirmative, kudos kind of way?
Being human is so hard.
Before I could think of anything to say back, I was saved by a stern, loud voice that cried out, “Will everyone take your seats? Now, please.”
The class was starting. Phew.
Justin gave me an after-you gesture and I took the nearest seat, which was way up in the auditorium, hoping Justin would sit next to me. But the sophomore football player didn’t, opting instead to walk down the steps to the front row.
A dark-skinned boy a few rows in front of me gave me a thumbs up and said in a deep foreign accent I recognized to be from West Africa (Where was that? Ghana?), “Smooth, girl. Very smooth.”
Yeah—smooth like sandpaper. So much for having a great first day.
Professor Hayes slammed two folders down on the table. “Why did the gods leave?”
Of all the questions I expected to be asked on my first day during my first class, this wasn’t one of them. Especially because no one knew why the gods left. Their GrandExodus happened four years ago and scholars, philosophers, theologians and scientists alike debated what would prompt them to go. The truth was—no one knew why they left and no one would ever know.
We’re not gods, and therefore god logic is not something we’re capable of.
There was a chuckle in the room.
Professor Hayes pointed in my direction and said, “Glad I was able to surprise you—and yes, a very good answer, but incomplete.”
Crap, I was speaking out loud again. It was something I did a lot. I don’t mean to, but I guess after years of being a lone hunter and creature of the night, you got
used to talking to yourself. And as for being embarrassed about it, that was new too. Back in those days, I’d simply rip out the throats of anyone who dared laugh at me.
Talking out loud was another old habit that I really had to get under control.
Professor Hayes smiled at me, his pudgy chipmunk cheeks squishing his eyes making him look like the Santa Claus version of Clint Eastwood.
I stared back, not daring to say—or think–anything.
“You, in the back row,” Professor Hayes said. “What is your name?”
“Ahh … me?” I started, but before I could get my name out, a voice in the front row said, “Katrina. Kat for short. Careful, Professor Hayes—she’s a jumper.”
Justin Truly.
The auditorium chattered with muffled giggles.
Professor Hayes shot Justin a look and said, “Katrina …?” He dragged out my name like I was supposed to complete it or something.
Oh, yeah—complete it. “Darling,” I said. “Katrina Darling.”
“Miss Darling,” the professor said. “Your answer is absolutely right. We don’t know. All we do know is that the gods did exist—once—and that three days from now will mark the four-year anniversary of their departure. We also know that they did not take it upon themselves to explain their behavior, instead leaving with a simple message of …?”
He raised his hands like an orchestra conductor and at his cue, the class sang out in harmony, “Thank you for believing in us, but it’s not enough. We’re leaving. Good luck.”
The gods’ last message to the world, and something that every living creature heard at exactly the same time. I’d never forget where I was when I heard that voice in my head. How could I? That was the exact moment I reverted back to human. Vampire no more. Thanks, gods.
It was a strange transition, to say the least, and abrupt as all hell. I was turned when I was fifteen, and I’d spent the last three hundred years as a teenager trapped in an immortal body. An immortal body that needed blood to survive.
When the gods left, I happened to be drinking from the neck of my—ahem—my latest victim: a vicar I found wandering the fields alone at night in a Scottish meadow near the town of Oban. I was halfway through with him when the gods’ message rang in my head. In an instant my fangs retracted. Unfortunately for both me and the vicar, I had bitten deep enough that my front and bottom teeth gripped flesh, and as said fangs retracted, a substantial squirt of his blood shot up into my mouth and down my throat.
I pulled away and promptly—elegantly, prettily even—threw up.
Only moments earlier, the taste of blood was something I craved. Now it was something I detested.
I would later find out that when they left, they took most of their magic with them. And me being a creature made from that very magic, I became magic-less, boring human again.
Wiping away the blood from my mouth, I thought, What the hell just happened? Evidently, I’d spoken this thought aloud, as per usual, because the old vicar was nodding at my question vigorously, also experiencing his own existentialist crisis. His face was painted with fear and his vestments were painted with his own blood, still streaming from his neck. But the fear on his face wasn’t of me—it was fear of whatever that message was. In some odd comradery, we walked into town together, not speaking, not really acknowledging each other’s existence.
As we passed an old pub, its TV blaring, we glimpsed images from the local news with the big bright letters that confirmed we weren’t the only ones who heard the message. In fact, everyone in the world heard it. The gods were gone. What we’d all heard was true. My own newly grown human canines were proof.
But them leaving and me turning human wasn’t the strangest thing to happen that night. Not by a long shot.
No, the strangest thing was the appearance of the Others. Seems that when the gods left, they closed all their domains, forcing mythical creatures of all religions, fables, and fairytales down to Earth. Centaurs, dragons, mermaids, nasnas, ecantado—you name them—all fell down. Fairytales raining from the sky.
And to think—prior to that day, I’d thought I was the biggest and baddest monster to roam this earthly plane. Sometimes my arrogance astounds me.
“That’s right,” Professor Hayes continued. “Thank you for believing in us, but it’s not enough. Not enough for what? To sustain them? To nurture them? To hold their interest? We’ll never know. All we do know is that whatever we once gave them, whatever it was that had kept them here for millennia, was no longer enough. Or perhaps it never was, and it took them that long to realize it.”
Professor Hayes adjusted his glasses and let out a heavy sigh.
“Will the Others in this classroom please stand up?”
A dust of pixies, an oni demon, a raiju, three fairies, two angels, an Incan apu and a gargoyle all stood up. I considered standing myself, but I wasn’t an Other. Not anymore, at least. My current human status—and desire to not embarrass myself in front of Justin Truly again—compelled me to remain in my seat.
But if I’m honest with myself, that wasn’t the only reason I kept seated. Truth was, I was ashamed of my past. When I think about all my victims—my human victims—I just want to rip out my own throat and watch myself bleed to death.
Morbid, I know. I’m working on that, too.
Besides, I used to be a freaking demon. Surely that counts for something in explaining my past … umm … discretions.
“Others,” Professor Hayes said to those standing in the auditorium, “I welcome you to my class. As your professor, I speak for everyone here when I say that I am proud to be part of the only university on this good great Earth that accepts Others as students.” He eyed the seated students. “For any humans who don’t approve, or who distrust them, this is what I say to you—they live among us now. Deal with it. Intolerance, hatred, fear—these happen outside of these hallowed halls. Those destructive ideologies have no place here. Do you understand?”
The auditorium was silent.
“I said, ‘Do you understand?’ ”
A mismatched chorus of weak Yeses could be heard in the lecture room. Not the most resounding acknowledgment of Professor Hayes’s ultimatum, but it would have to do. It had only been four years. Change takes time.
“Very good,” Professor Hayes said, motioning for the Others to take their seats. “Let’s get started. History is not going teach itself.”
Chapter 2
History Is for the Hyenas
The rest of the class went pretty much like you’d expect a history class to go. Dates, events … yadda, yadda, yadda. Given that this class focused on the Industrial Era and I’d actually lived through that, I was surprised at how inaccurate so much of the history was. I flipped through the textbook, reading about the rise of machines that forced farmers out of the fields and into cities to find work, about overpopulation and pollution which made day-to-day life miserable.
That’s not what I remembered.
I remembered people having more time to think, to dance, to sing. To play. That social classes were beginning to break down and, for the first time ever, the common man had a chance to be more than to carry on in whatever menial profession his father did.
It was a good time. Not the best, but far better than what had proceeded it.
Not that I was going to say anything to Professor Hayes. I was a normal human girl in her late teens. Normal human girls in their late teens do not have firsthand experience with the early 1800s.
And to think that I thought this class was going to be a breeze. Now I would have to learn everything they claimed happened and replace it with everything I knew actually happened.
Arrgh!
The bell rang and everyone started to pack up and leave. I purposely took my time, hoping Justin Truly would come my way and talk to me. This time I would be more suave. Cool as ice. I’d be the bee’s knees—no, that’s not right. That was human vernacular in the 1920s. This was the new millennium, the GoneGod world. Unfortunately
, I lived through a ton of those eras, each with their own particular and peculiar vernacular—plus, I had a deeeep love for ’80s and ’90s TV—so I wasn’t really hip on modern slang. Yet.
What I did know was that in this era, humans didn’t use words like bee’s knees, groovy or rockin’. And one wasn’t in or down with it anymore.
Modern humans were now saying things like GoneGodDamn! or Empty Heaven. I’d even heard some idiot say Hellelujah! Probably thought he was being clever or something.
That’s what I needed to be—a modern human. Part of being a modern human meant that you didn’t wait for Justin to show up. You just happened to be in his path when he did. So, in an effort to be like my contemporaries, I pretended to be engrossed in the class’s textbook. When he passed, he’d stop and say “Hi,” or maybe something cooler like “Hey.” I’d lift a casual finger as if to say Give me a minute before looking up as if unaware who had been standing there.
Yeah—that was what a modern human looked like. Calculatedly casual.
Besides, I didn’t need to be too modern, because—not to sound full of myself—I was cute. Not gorgeous, mind you, but cute. I had a kind of Reese-Witherspoon-in-Legally-Blonde or Sarah-Michelle-Gellar-in-Buffy vibe going for me. I had a cute but confident yet somehow helpless aura to me that I’d cultivated over the centuries of being a vampire.
I had to. It was how I hunted.
During that time, I had two main shticks to lure in my prey. The first one I called Cute and Helpless, and it went like this: “Oh my, Mister Big-and-Strong, it is dark outside and I’m scared. Do you mind walking me home?” That was good when I wanted a quick meal without all the fuss of screaming and running.
The second technique was reserved for when I was in a playful mood: Cute and Terrified. In that routine, I’d find some dark alley or secluded place and start screaming for dear life. Eventually, some macho guy came running and, well, let’s just say that there was some screaming and running on his part. I’d play cat-and-mouse with him for a bit before, you know … eating.
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