Odd. The alarm she felt at Fiona's suggestion that they have a picnic with Ursula was interrupted only by the annoying thought that Fiona was insanely attractive. Her exotic gem-green eyes grabbed her attention whether she wanted to give it or not. Before she could stop herself, her own eyes had slowly glided over Fiona's body. She didn't think Fiona was quite as beautiful as Ursula, but was still very attractive. Magnetic was perhaps more the word to describe Fiona. And the luster of her hair was like nothing Rose had ever seen and, much to her shock, she fleetingly imagined it draped across her naked breast.
A feeling of being unfaithful to Ursula came over her and she chastised herself, even as her dread returned. Dread that Fiona had set her sights on Ursula. A clench in her belly made her realize that what she was thinking was outrageous. What was she thinking? It was ludicrous. Ursula barely acknowledged Rose as a friend. It was only through Rose's tenacity that she managed to be around Ursula as much as she was. It was sheer luck that her cousin Johanna was Ursula's good friend and invited Rose to outings with them. Otherwise, Ursula would never have even known Rose was alive.
The sun was streaming in from the west and hit her in the eyes as it reached a certain angle. She suddenly had a headache and rubbed her temple. With her head tilted down, she stared at the lines in the floor's wood.
Her entire body felt like taffy when she thought about being around Ursula. She never knew what to say. Ursula had been to university, was so worldly, and knew so much. Rose knew little of anything. Her feeling of stupidity got worse every time she was around her. What's more, she became like a wilting flower. She'd always been on the quiet side, but around Ursula, she felt like an orchid, shriveling under the heat of scrutiny.
She so wanted Ursula to like her, but she had nothing to offer her. Oh, where was her journal? Writing down her thoughts always helped her sort them out, and she sorely missed it, and worried about where she may have put it. It had been missing for days now and she began to fear that she would never find it. It was unthinkable that someone had found it. But if her mother had read it, she would have said something by now. There was no mistaking...or misinterpreting...what she'd written. She'd get another when the opportunity presented itself.
"Rose," her mother called from the downstairs foyer. Rose jumped. When had Mother returned? She felt nauseated. She walked to the doorway on weakened knees.
"Yes?"
"Come down, please. I'd like to speak with you."
Rose clenched her teeth. Had she found it after all? As she went down the staircase, her limbs were so rubbery that she had to grip the handrail and lean against it as she slowly descended. When she finally reached the bottom, she went into the dining room and stopped just over the threshold and clutched the wall for support. "Yes?"
Marianne stood near the buffet, flipping through several patterns of linens. "I want to use these," she said to Bridget, who stood next to her, pulling out boxes of silverware. "No...these. " She pointed to a different pattern before she turned to face her daughter. "Oh, sweetie. I want you to get a new dress. The ones you have are much too old," she said, walking to another buffet and opening its drawers.
"But I just bought two new dresses."
"No, no. A party dress."
"What do I need a party dress for?"
Marianne threw her arms out in front of her, the embroidered napkins in her hands fluttering. "Because we're having a party," she said in an exasperated tone. "What do you think I'm doing here?"
Rose looked at the linens and silverware Bridget was counting. Bridget looked up at her and smiled. "Your mother just informed me, too, miss."
Rose looked at her mother, who had turned her attention back to the linens. "When did you get back?"
"Just a few minutes ago."
She didn't move for a few moments. Relief flooded her limbs. This wasn't about her journal. Her head spun and the sweat that had coated her skin was making her cold. A little shiver made her jerk slightly.
"You don't look well, Rose. Are you feeling all right?"
"Yes. I'm fine." She wasn't feeling fine at all. But at least her secret was still safe.
"When is the party?" Her attempt to sound normal seemed weak to her, but it was the best she could do.
"In three weeks. We need to entertain your father's clients, the Stuarts. But I find them so insufferable, I thought it best that we invite other people as well. You know, so we don't have to talk to them quite as much." Marianne had moved to the china closet and was looking at various candlesticks. "How was tea with your friend?" she asked as she examined a silver specimen.
"Fine."
"I'm sorry I didn't get to visit with her. Perhaps she'll come again some other time."
"Maybe. She's invited me for a picnic next week. With Johanna. And Ursula."
At that, Bridget's head had popped up and Rose was puzzled by the concerned look on her face.
"A picnic? I don't know," her mother said. "Traipsing around a park, sitting on the ground'¦It's so unladylike."
Rose braced herself. The arguments never changed. "Don't tell me you never went on a picnic when you were young."
Marianne stopped and turned back to the candlesticks. "What I did and what I believe now are two different things," she said with a hint of indignation.
She was in no mood to listen to her mother's lecturing, so she turned to go.
"Well," Marianne said, "at least you're going with a respected member of the Children's Aid Society. I've heard much about this Fiona Keane from Mrs. Greenley."
Fiona's name sent a sharp stab through Rose's head. She gave Bridget one last glance, and her face seemed all eyebrows, since her forehead was crinkled and angled down. Rose had seen this look many times. Bridget was worried about something, and it seemed that Fiona was the source of it.
Rose went back to her room. For the first time in her life, she was ready to disregard the rules of decorum and ladylike behavior. Whatever it took, she would do it to keep Fiona from sinking her claws into Ursula.
ROSE WOKE, AND sat staring into the dark for a moment, the bizarre and discomfiting dream still in her mind. She got out of bed and went to her window. The moonlight broke through the trees of the park and hit the ground in a pattern reminiscent of broken glass. In her dream, Fiona called to her from across the park, holding out her hand, beckoning. She was so beautiful that Rose wanted to go to her, but something was holding her in place.
Vines. They had wrapped themselves around her ankles and were encircling her calves. She looked up again. A pained expression crossed Fiona's face, but she forced a smile and beckoned to her again. A voice called Rose's name. It came from nowhere in particular and she couldn't identify it. That was what had awakened her. For a split second, she thought that someone real had called her name, but she was sure it had been in her dream. She was breathing heavily and had waited a moment before getting up and going to the window. The night outside looked normal. Just as any warm summer night should look.
She continued to stare out the window, uneasy, like something had shifted in her consciousness. She didn't want to go back to sleep, but the dream had left her drained, so she started back toward her bed. Just as she turned away from the window, something caught her eye. Movement in the trees. Rose unlatched the window and swung one side open. She looked at the trees on the street then scanned as much of the park to her right as she could see. But there was no more movement. She closed the window, anxiety penetrating her bones, and went back to bed. She did not sleep again that night.
Chapter Eight
FIONA WOKE, GOT up, and pulled aside her curtain. The wispy moonlight entered her window and faintly illuminated the austere room. Vampires didn't need much in the way of material things. Still, many enjoyed living among expensive possessions and wearing the latest fashions from Paris simply because they could. And because they had such high opinions of themselves, they believed that anything less would not do. Fiona couldn't care less for ostentatious trappings. All she want
ed was enough to live comfortably.
Her small bedroom had a bed and a night table, a dressing table, and a chair. Right outside this room was a kitchen that she never used. Next to this was a bathroom that she used merely to bathe in. While her body did not create odors on its own, New York was a dirty place and the soot and smells of the city clung to her skin and permeated her hair. Besides, she enjoyed sitting in the deep, claw-footed tub. It relaxed her after a night of feeding. And although she had no biological need of the toilet, sometimes she pulled the chain just for fun. It still amazed her to see such modern conveniences.
A few steps from these rooms was a living area, where a red plush sofa and a Queen Anne coffee table kept one another company by the fireplace, which remained perpetually cold. Sitting on top of the mantle was a simple maple picture frame. It was empty. It had, at one time, contained a portrait of her and Susanna together. Fiona had grabbed it when she had gone back to the apartment she and Susanna had shared to get her belongings.
Fiona thought about that night. Terror had kept her away from her home and her lover for three weeks. The friend she was staying with had urged her to disclose what had happened but she couldn't bring herself to say, partly because it was so horrible and partly because, despite what Susanna was becoming and what she wanted Fiona to become, she loved her. After all, how do you just stop loving someone overnight? She didn't think one could, no matter what the other person had done. That's why people who committed the most heinous, vile acts still often had someone who stood by them. No, you couldn't just stop loving someone.
She lit the oil lamps in her small living room. She'd been wanting to add gas lamps to her apartment for some time but had been too preoccupied with her plan to think of anything else. She sat down in a wing-back chair and pulled the little book out of her pocket and opened it. The page she turned to again and again was marked with a blue silk ribbon. It was not the last page but it was the most important. Flipping the ribbon over the top of the book, she read.
February 12, 1900
Dear Journal, It is becoming increasingly difficult to hide my feelings for
U. I encourage my cousin to engage in as many activities with her as possible so that I, in turn, can spend as much time with her as possible by joining them. I do not have the courage to be alone with U, for if I am, I am afraid of betraying myself to her and frightening her away. What would she do if she knew how I felt?
Try as I might, I cannot tear my thoughts from her. It is not natural, I know. And yet, I cannot deny it. I want so badly to hold her face in my hands and kiss her. I want to run my fingers through her golden hair and nibble on her delectable earlobe. It is wrong, and if Mother and Father find out, they will surely send me to a convent or the madhouse.
But every time I step close to her, my skin tingles and my heart beats faster. And perhaps it is wishful thinking, but I cannot help but sense that she has some sort of similar reaction to me. When I look at her at those moments, her bosom appears to heave and I must tear my eyes away. If I look at her, her sparkling blue eyes are wide and seem to sear right through me and I can only step away from her.
What if I am wrong? U would only end up horrified by me and I would lose her forever, and perhaps even J. I don't know what to do. Please, God, show me what to do.
I'm scared of Mother finding out, and I'm especially afraid of these feelings. Should I stop myself from feeling this way? I would not know how.
Fiona replaced the ribbon between the pages and closed the book. Clutching it against her chest, she marveled at the turn of events since first meeting Rose. The unforeseen circumstances were almost too good to be true and they fit in beautifully with what she had in mind.
Rose had to become a vampire willingly. She couldn't hate Fiona for doing it to her or she would never love her. Fiona knew this from bitter personal experience. She absentmindedly ran her hand up and down the back of the book. Rose's feelings for Ursula would provide a way.
She had thought all along that she would have to be extremely creative to coax Rose into the life. One way was to render Rose unconscious and bite her. This meant getting Rose alone, which was difficult to do, since Rose's duties occupied much of her time and her mother took up much of what was left. And she'd have to do it more than once. Another involved seduction. She hadn't been sure this would work either, since she didn't know how Rose would react to a woman flirting with her. Considering Rose's feelings for Ursula, Fiona had briefly reconsidered this plan, but there was no guarantee Rose would let Fiona seduce her.
Her last resort, the one that she wanted to avoid at all costs, was force. This method would only bring unhappiness to both of them.
A tingling in her limbs told Fiona that it was time to feed. The sensation quickly moved up her arms and legs into her torso. With alarming speed, it reached her throat, making her feel as if her throat and chest cavity were large open spaces, expanding, aching to be filled. She was voraciously hungry.
The combination of the strain on her body and the excitement of the painstaking hunt...the one in which Rose was the prey...had been leaving her with a powerful thirst lately. Her thoughts turned to blood and violence, to ripping flesh apart in a surge of animal lust, power, and a wild need that only the fiercest animals and the desperate could understand. Earlier than usual, she stepped out and walked around the city, hoping to stave off her hunger until it got late enough to hunt.
Since daylight lasted longer, the city still teemed with activity. Street vendors were just packing up their wares and people were hurrying home to have their dinners. One vendor had set up crates, on top of which he had positioned boxes of fruits and vegetables. The man, swathed in an oversized coat and a big woolen scarf wrapped around his neck a couple of times...a bit much for the weather, Fiona thought...was putting his boxes of apples, oranges, cabbage, carrots, and myriad other produce into the back of a small flatbed. As she passed, his horse bucked wildly and the man murmured things to the animal in an attempt to calm him down.
She eyed the produce longingly. How she missed the snap of a crisp, green apple, the sweetness of ruby-red strawberries, the pleasant tartness of a pomegranate. She had no need of food, didn't crave it physically, but she recalled with sweet pleasure the feel of thick, fragrant juice dripping down her chin after she'd bitten into a ripe pear.
The memories of human pleasure were sometimes too much to bear and the sense of loss too strong. Touching another human being and feeling the simple comfort of skin on skin entered her thoughts. Touching Susanna had been heaven for her. The tingling pleasures of arousal just from her fingertips making contact with Susanna's lips, cheeks, hair, breasts...
It could equally be said that what a vampire gains in sensation and pleasure just from the intake of blood alone is beyond what mortals could imagine in their wildest dreams. The most degenerate of opiate addicts, the most indulgent of libertines did not know what that ecstasy felt like. The sensation of drinking blood, feeling it enter your system, fill every cell, every corpuscle, brings a vampire into a state that transcended physical--or even psychological--pleasure. It lifted them onto another plane of existence, another level where the mind could not box it into an expression, into an image, or into words.
There was much to be gained in this existence. Immortality, strength...physical and mental...that mortals could never dream of. A sense of well-being that humans wished for. But even those things grew tedious after a while. Susanna had been right about one thing: Neither of them had had anyone they really loved, aside from one another. That meant that, unlike many other vampires, they would not have to endure watching the people they loved grow old and die while they themselves remained forever young. That was the one saving grace about having no one.
Now, Fiona was happier than she'd been in a long time. She would finally have someone by her side. She wouldn't be alone anymore. Still, she couldn't completely shake off the sadness. Sadness, she knew, would always be a part of her daily existence.
S
he was so wrapped up in her thoughts that before she knew it, she'd walked all the way to Central Park. How appropriate, she thought, that she would end up here, where in a few short days, she would initiate her plan. Entering through the west side entrance, she quietly walked through the trees and waited for someone to appear. Someone always did. People were arrogant, believing that even when they put themselves in dangerous situations, bad things would not befall them. What made people think they were immune to disaster?
Darkness had enveloped the park and only the distant shuffles of people rushing home and the clip-clop of livery horses disturbed the music of the night creatures. The crickets were her favorite, with their delicate chirping, so well timed and consistent. The little "clickclick-click-click" of their song often soothed her restless mind.
A break in the cricket song let another sound come through. A rock skipping along the pathway. Fiona, hidden in the trees, peeked out through the branches. A middle-aged man walked slowly along the path, kicking stones, leaves, and seemingly imaginary things in his way. He looked sad, as if the weight of the world was upon his shoulders. She felt sorry for him, whatever his problem might be. She waited until he had reached a bend in the path. Ahead of him was a boulder that visitors to the park climbed and perched upon, and from which they dangled their legs. She quickly moved behind the rock, and as he neared it, she reached out to grab him and pulled him behind the boulder with her. There, she sank her teeth into his neck and took what she needed.
She left him there, comfortably curled up on the grass. As she walked toward the edge of the park, she felt a deeply intense emotion that made her want to cry. It was his emotion. The man was sad because he had just been rejected by the woman he loved.
She left through the east side entrance and distanced herself from the park. The moon was luminous, almost casting shadows along the darkened, shiny streets. It had rained but the clouds had moved on, leaving nothing in the sky but a radiant glow. The light breeze would have made mortals feel a bit chilly, but Fiona found it glorious. It was a perfect night and she didn't want to go home.
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