Know Me When the Sun Goes Down

by Olsen, Lisa

  I let her bring me upstairs and undress me like a child until I wore only a nightdress and satin slippers, still stained with morning dew. By the time she slipped them off my feed, there was a light scratch at the door, my meal had arrived.

  “Go ahead then, get your feed on,” Bridget urged me, setting me down at the couch and directing the man to kneel before me.

  There was no hunger, no anticipation, nothing. I didn’t want to eat him, I didn’t want to do anything.

  “Earth to Anja...” Bridget snapped her fingers in my face, and my hand shot out and clamped over them, more out of habit than any real annoyance.

  “Don’t.”

  “Dude, you are seriously freaking me out. Eat this guy already, you need your rest.”

  I looked into his eyes and saw nothing more than calm acceptance. Now that I thought about it, I could tell she was right, my skin was warmer than it should be, even after being out in the sun, I clearly needed to eat. So why then did I have no appetite?

  “Oh for fuck’s sake,” she growled, grabbing a letter opener and stabbing the guy in the throat. “Would you eat already?”

  The man cried out in pain, hand clamping over the wound, and I stared down at him feeling the stirrings of pity within me. He didn’t deserve to suffer just because Bridget was impatient for me to eat.

  “Shh, it’s alright. It doesn’t hurt,” I said, easily catching hold of his will with mine. He instantly relaxed, his arm dropping to his side. Blood oozed out of the wound, the scent appealing, even if I still didn’t feel particularly hungry. More out of habit than anything else, I lapped at the wound, prepared to heal it for him if his blood was distasteful, but the moment I tasted his blood, my appetite returned with a vengeance.

  Suddenly ravenous, my fangs slid into his neck, my throat working as I swallowed and swallowed, unable to get his blood into me fast enough. He moaned, hands resting on my thighs in rapture, but I felt nothing but bloodlust. I realized too late I’d forgotten all about the count. But his heart still beat steadily, and I slowed down, allowing myself a few more swallows before I pulled back and sealed the wounds with my blood.

  “Thank you,” I said in a thick voice, releasing him from the compulsion. It wasn’t necessary to make him forget anything, he was a feeder.

  “My pleasure, ma’am,” he said with a dreamy sigh, obviously having enjoyed the exchange.

  Bridget hustled him out of there, coming back to the sofa with a worried look on her face. “Better?”

  “Yes, I do feel a lot better, thanks.” I was still tired with the sun already up, but I no longer felt that weary ache in my bones.

  “Are we gonna talk about what just happened?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Bridget sat down beside me. “Did you or did you not deliberately go outside while the sun was out? I saw Bishop bring you in.”

  “You saw that?” Had I really tried to greet the dawn? “I’m not sure what happened. I was so tired, I didn’t want to come in.”

  “So tired you had a death wish?”

  I wasn’t sure what to say to that.

  “Shit, Anja, that is not okay. That is very not okay,” she yelled, getting up to stalk up one side of the rug and down the other. “You don’t just give up like that. After all we went through to come back here and make things right?”

  “I’m sorry, I was just...” I struggled to explain it, the misery nothing more than a distant memory now. “I remember how I felt, and how it made perfect sense at the time, but I don’t feel the same way anymore. It was like... I don’t know, something wasn’t right with me.”

  “No kidding, you’re not right in the head if you think about killing yourself over a guy,” she snorted. “Especially a guy who’s right here.”

  “I don’t know what it was, but I feel better now that I’ve fed. Do you think it’s possible for blood to kill depression? Or did I have some kind of blood depression because I needed to feed?” Blood depression? Was that even a thing?

  Bridget stopped pacing, teeth worrying at her bottom lip. “I hate to say it, but... do you think it has to do with that immortality thing?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you gave up your immortality. What does that even mean? Are you aging like a normal person now? Maybe you need blood more often to survive? Maybe without it you get like post-mortem depression?”

  “I... don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it,” I replied, trying to wrap my mind around it. She had a point, we had no idea how the spell would manifest itself. “It’s a bit soon to figure out if I’m aging like a normal person now. I guess I won’t know for a few years or more.”

  “Well, we’re not taking any more chances that it’ll come back. You’re feeding every night like a noob from now on.” I opened my mouth to argue, and she pointed an accusatory finger at me. “No, we’re not doing what you think is best for once. Like it or not, I’m not ready for you to shuffle off this immortal coil and leave me stranded back here without mochas. So I get a say in when and where you eat from now on.”

  “Alright, in this, you are the boss of me.”

  “You’re damn right. Now get into bed before I have to beat some sense into you.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I agreed without argument, letting her herd me into the bedroom and tuck me in like a five year old.

  “Good night, or day, or whatever,” she said gruffly, stomping off to the dressing room.

  “Hey Bridget?” I called out before she slammed the door. “I’m pretty sure we can finagle a mocha for you. They have coffee, milk, and chocolate here.”

  She paused in the doorway. “You get me a mocha and maybe I’ll think about forgiving you for scaring me the way you did today.”

  “I love you too, Bridge,” I said solemnly, and after an exaggerated roll of the eyes she managed a smile.

  “Yeah, yeah, you know you’re not my type.”

  For the first time in a week, I smiled. Maybe I could find some hope after all.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next night I didn’t argue when Bridget sent down for another feeder even though I’d eaten at dawn. With the fresh influx of blood, I wasn’t plagued by the same depression and fear, I was actually able to experience anticipation again as I dressed for the evening. One of the new dresses I’d had made in town had arrived, pale pink with an embroidered lacy overlay that made my complexion look rosy and healthy.

  Wishing I had Maggie around to help me with my hair, I settled for the same style I’d been working, pulled up and tucked around a ribbon, with a few tendrils framing my face. There were curling tongs available, but even picking them up made me think of Volkov’s red hot poker, and I decided curls weren’t for me.

  As I descended into the great hall with Bridget beside me, I squared my shoulders, determined to talk to Bishop, even if it was just to thank him for helping me that morning. Only it was another set of familiar shoulders I spotted by the enormous fireplace.

  Aubrey.

  He’d always been well dressed, but the era suited him. In the lingo of the day, I think he’d be called a dandy. He wore not one, but two waistcoats, silver on top and a hint of bright red for the inner one, his double breasted cutaway coat in sleek lines of gray superfine. His blonde hair was close cropped in a Caesar cut, artfully swept forward to frame his face, and his cool gray eyes sparkled with good humor and charm as he swung around to meet me.

  “There she is, I’d know her anywhere,” he said with an elegant bow, not bothering to wait for an introduction. “There can be no doubt that you are the lovely Miss Gudrun.”

  “Mr. Cantrell,” I said with a bob of my own.

  “Oh good, this jackhole,” Bridget murmured, and I stepped on her foot on my way to greet him to shut her up.

  “Oh no, sister dear, such formality will simply never do,” he scolded me as I took his hand. “You must call me Aubrey. We are family, after all.”

  “And you must call me Anja, dear brother,” I rep
lied, smiling graciously as he kissed the back of my hand. I could play nice, even if he was responsible for a lot of the more painful moments of my lifetime. The last thing I wanted was a repeat of our last meeting that’d ended up in my torture. “It’s so very good to finally meet you. I hope we shall get to know each other at last.”

  “I feel as if we are fast friends already,” he smiled, still holding tight to my hand.

  Uh oh. “Your friendship is important to me, as is that of our brother,” I said, firmly but diplomatically retrieving my hand. If he was disappointed, he gave no sign of it.

  “Yes, family connections are always worth preserving. Actually, I had half expected to have to fight off our wayward brother for your charms this evening. I wonder where he is about?” His cool gaze scanned the room, but I didn’t spot Bishop around anywhere either.

  “You know Bishop. I’m sure duty called and he jumped at the chance to order people around.”

  “Just so,” he chuckled. “His loss is my gain, for now I have you all to myself.”

  Not that we were alone, there were easily another dozen vampires spread around the room. “And I’m looking forward to hearing all about what you’ve been up to for the past century.”

  “Oh no, that won’t do,” he said with a pretend pout. “I insist upon hearing from you first. I’ve heard you are quite the songstress.”

  “You have?” I blinked in surprise. That could only have come from Bishop. As far as I knew, he was the only one who’d heard me singing that morning. “And what else did our brother have to say about me?”

  “That you are as mysterious as you are beautiful.” Aubrey leaned forward, a smile hovering about his lips, but his gaze was uncomfortably intense. “I look forward to discovering all of your secrets.”

  Cool beans. “Actually, I’d love to sing for you,” I volunteered, eager to escape that penetrating look. “Well, for anyone who cares to hear it,” I expanded to include the vampires in the room, not wanting Aubrey to think I was singing only for him.

  “I would very much like to hear you sing, my dear,” Sylvius smiled, apparently following the conversation.

  “Then I would be very happy to oblige,” I smiled back at the Elder, taking my place to the side of his ornate chair, waiting until the room had grown sufficiently silent. Unsure what to sing at first, I remembered that Sylvius had enjoyed My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose, so I chose that one to please him. The Scottish melody was plaintive and sweet, and I knew it well, so that I didn’t have to worry about the words or losing my place.

  I was careful not to sing to Aubrey too much, my gaze sweeping among the other listening, including Bridget, who looked bored to tears with the old fashioned song. Would she rather I busted out with Moves Like Jagger instead? Somehow I didn’t think the crowd would appreciate it.

  I was on the last verse when Bishop came in. Whether he was drawn to the music or some other duty, I didn’t know, but the instant our eyes met, I was unable to look at anyone but him. There was a polite smattering of applause when the song finished, but I hardly heard it until Aubrey approached, catching hold of my elbow.

  “That was every bit as lovely as you are,” he beamed, taking hold of my hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it again.

  “That’s no excuse to paw at her like a common churl.” Bishop was suddenly there, his chest swelling wider as he pulled my hand away from Aubrey’s grasp. Was he jealous or just grumpycakes? It was hard to tell. From the way Aubrey’s eyes narrowed in anger, I guessed this wasn’t an uncommon theme between them, and I rushed to diffuse the situation before he ended up smacking Bishop in the face with a glove and throwing down a challenge.

  “It’s alright, Bishop, Aubrey’s only being friendly. He would never try anything untoward, would you?”

  I half expected him to say something smarmy in response, but instead Aubrey replied with perfect aplomb. “Of course not, sweeting. I respect you far too highly for that. Especially given that you could break me in two should the mood strike, if what I hear is true. Did she really lay you out flat, brother?” he asked Bishop with a teasing lilt.

  Instead of anger or embarrassment, I fancied I saw a warmth come into Bishop’s eyes as he replied, “That she did.”

  “Well then, I see it is in my best interests to curry your favor. What say you to a duet? Shall we sing something together?”

  I’d forgotten Aubrey had said something about singing once before, though I’d never heard him, and curiosity got the better of me. “That would be lovely. Do you know Non lo dirò col labbro?” It was the original Italian aria that had been turned into Silent Worship, the duet that Emma and Frank Churchill sang in one of my favorite Emma adaptations. Aubrey reminded me of Frank Churchill with his wit and fashion sense.

  “I do indeed. But that is not a duet.”

  “You sing the melody, I’ll make it a duet.”

  “I like the sound of that,” he smiled. “Very well then, a duet it shall be. You must play for us, brother,” he said to Bishop.

  “I don’t play anymore, you know that.”

  “But you will for Anja, won’t you? You wouldn’t want to disappoint our dear sister.”

  “It’s fine,” I waved him off, not wanting Bishop to do anything he was uncomfortable doing. “We can sing it a capella.”

  “Ah, but you must, Ulrik,” Sylvius intervened. “I would give a great deal to hear the family play together.”

  I couldn’t be sure if it was compulsion or respect that had Bishop bowing in response. “Yes, Your Grace.” Either way, he took his place at the pianoforte, fingers poised over the keys as he waited for us to signal we were ready to begin. I nodded, and he began to play the intro.

  “Oh boy, another oldie but a goodie,” Bridget muttered, and wandered off in search of a glass of champagne.

  The words were simple, with a lot of repetition, and I found the harmony easily. Aubrey had a fine singing voice in his own right, nothing special, but pleasing to the ear. The words were different in the original Italian, roughly amounting to:

  I will not say it with my lips

  Which have not that courage;

  Perhaps the sparks

  Of my burning eyes,

  Revealing my passion,

  My glance will speak.

  I’d chosen it because it was a love song, and because it was in Bishop’s native tongue. Couldn’t he see that I sang only for him? Instead, his shoulders bunched with tension as we sang, and when the song was over, he pushed away from the piano before the applause had even begun, exiting the hall without another word.

  Daì ruò mù ji. Nothing I did was right in his eyes.

  “Pay no mind to him, sweeting,” Aubrey cooed, watching me watch Bishop’s exit. “Will you not sing us another?”

  “I don’t know.” Suddenly I didn’t feel much like singing. “Shouldn’t we give someone else a chance?”

  Nobody else seemed inclined to volunteer. “Just one more, for me.”

  “No, I think that’s enough for tonight.” Somehow my motivation had left with Bishop.

  “You have a magical voice indeed. I insist we find a way to showcase it suitably. What say you to a ball?”

  “A ball?” I repeated, not sure I’d heard him correctly. He wanted me to sing at a ball?

  “Yes, a ball to introduce my long lost sister to proper society. What say you, Sylvius? I shan’t take no for an answer.”

  “But of course,” Sylvius agreed readily. “In one week’s time. Corley...”

  The Warden materialized at his elbow looking peeved over the plans. “That is hardly enough time to properly plan...”

  “In one week’s time,” Sylvius repeated, with an undercurrent of strength to his voice. What was going on there? Some kind of power play?

  “As you wish, Your Grace,” Corley agreed without further argument. “In that case, perhaps we should adjourn to discuss more important matters before the preparations begin. Aubrey? Will you join us?”

  A
ubrey looked like he wanted to stay with me, but he gave a short bow and trailed after him like a puppy.

  What would he want to talk to Aubrey about? I remembered that Aubrey did work for Corley some of the time, but I had no idea what he really did for him. They headed toward the Warden’s office, directly off of the hall, and I followed after them. “Anything I should be concerned about?”

  “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” Corley said with a smug smile.

  “Pretentious dumbhole,” I muttered, as he took great pleasure in closing the door right in my face.

  “I can think of a better word for him, but it does still end in hole,” Bridget offered, sidling up with a mostly empty glass.

  “No matter what the time, that guy is as sour as they come. I wonder if he was ever happy?”

  “Nah, he probably hated his own mama. Listen, did Mr. Foppypants say something about a ball? Does that mean we’re expected to dance and all that crap? I’m guessing we don’t get to sit around smoking weed and looking at album covers like we do at my parties.”

  “No, I’m pretty sure that’s not on the agenda,” I admitted with a faint smile. “I imagine there will be dancing and drinking aplenty, but you don’t have to do either if you don’t want to. I’ll probably be expected to though,” I realized with a frown. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To see a man about a dance.”

  * * *

  Nobody stopped us as we descended to the lower levels, and it didn’t take long to find Bishop’s quarters. Only he wasn’t there. At least, I was pretty sure he wasn’t there. I couldn’t pick up so much as a peep as I put my ear to the door.

  “Ah, may I help you, Miss Gudrun?”

  I turned to find Clay, the Order guy who’d first brought us into Vetis standing in the hall with an amused quirk of his brow. “Um, yes, actually. You can point me in the direction that Bishop might be in.”

  “He’s gone to town.”

  “Oh. Frak, I must’ve barely missed him. Did he say when he’d be back?”