“You pity me.” Fear tangles in her eyes. I don’t know what she’s afraid of, but she feels every inch of space between us. Or maybe that’s just me.
“Bianca, you’re not a charity case I want to get off the streets. I’m not here because I feel bad for you.” I reach for her hand, and her terror slams into my chest. Fear of me. Of what I’m saying. It’s not the kind of fear she wants to hide from, but the kind she wants to chase. I know because I feel it too. We’re getting to know each other. I take her hand again, and she doesn’t flinch.
“I’m here because I feel you. Your pain, your sadness, your hatred.” Her hand trembles gently in mine. “You want to hate me, and I understand, but I like you. I see the part of you that wants to be saved. I feel her too.” I close my other hand on top of hers, and she takes a ragged breath. “Don’t let go.”
She tries to inhale, but she chokes on it and a tear rolls down her pale cheek. “James,” she breathes. “You have no idea what’s going on.”
“Then tell me. That’s what I’ve been trying to get you to do this whole time. Just talk to me.”
She takes another deep breath, trying to hold back the tears, but it hurts her to keep it all inside.
“Let me help you.”
She raises her face toward me, and tears flow freely from her eyes. “I don’t deserve it.” Then she covers her face. “It’s not fair. I never asked for your help, and now you’ve turned everything around on me. All I can think about is how I’m hurting you.”
I sit down on the barstool next to her and run my hand along her spine. I feel her tears roll over my skin.
“You’re not going to leave, are you?” she asks.
“No. I can’t.”
The tears still fall, but she attempts to control her breathing. She can’t meet my gaze, but I feel something coming on. Her chest is tight, and she is pressing her hand into her thigh.
“My parents died when I was thirteen.”
Her
It’s too painful to stand up there beside the matching coffins, so she sits instead. The memory of that night is a scar on her heart. It has settled into the screams of her parents and the wind stinging her eyes as she is carried away.
Now she watches perfect strangers admire them, pray for them, and cry for them.
“They were such good neighbors.”
“They babysat my kids for me.”
“That poor girl.”
They have no idea.
She squeezes fistfuls of lace in her hands. There isn’t enough anger in the world to fill the empty hole inside her. All these people masquerade in front of her, pretending like they knew her parents. Her parents were better than all of them.
They were strong.
If only she had been as strong as them. Maybe, just maybe, she could have fought with them. She could have saved them. At the very least, she could have died with them.
It would have been easier than this.
***
She lies awake, staring out the window. The moon still fills her with hatred and fear. The nighttime is their time. She isn’t safe. She’ll never be safe.
Every second that she’s alone, her mind falls back to that night, trying to breathe in that too tight dress, listening to her parents fight for their lives. And then, those strong arms carrying her to safety. She didn’t do anything. Didn’t even try to help them.
For a while, she was mad at her parents. If they had only trained her, she might have been able to help them. But that anger was too painful. She would have hated the training anyway.
It’s been a year since she’s come to the orphanage. Her parents’ relatives had all died long ago—probably killed by vampires. Now it’s just her. Emptiness twists inside her gut like a knife. It would be so much better if she could just harden herself altogether. If she could stop feeling, she could stop hurting.
Everyone knows the longer you’re here, the less likely you are to be adopted. It’s bad enough she’s stuck in a group home rather than in foster care. It wasn’t said outright, but she knows it’s because she’s too messed up. The night terrors, the trust issues, the swelling rage. More than that, they shied away from the fact that her parents were murdered, and they still had not caught the culprits.
People don’t want to adopt broken children.
She remembers meeting with a family when she first got there. They’d been so nervous, in an innocent kind of way.
“So, how are you?” the woman asked her. The woman had short brown hair that framed her round face. Young, but not too young. The man at her side had his arm around her. He pushed his glasses up with his free hand and smiled at the lonely girl in front of them. They were so happy.
She didn’t even realize she’d started crying until the woman awkwardly patted her arm. “It’s okay,” she said.
“No, it’s not,” she snarled.
Because the only thing worse than ending up alone would be finding some other perfect family to live with. She doesn’t deserve happiness.
The only thing that keeps her going now is the dream of running away to New York. There, she could have a life of her own. Far away from the pain of that night. She wants a state border between her and her old home.
And yet, there could be even more vampires in that city. With all those people packed into such a small area, it would be easy for them. The thought makes her claustrophobic.
But maybe that’s what she wants.
A place to train.
To be like her parents.
Hunters.
The word gives her strength.
***
The train station is about a mile away from the orphanage. The walk is nothing. She barely feels it with the wash of adrenaline she gets every time the wind blows. She’s finally doing something. Getting away. She’s refusing to be afraid. But there is a snag in her plans.
“How can I help you?” the woman behind the counter asks.
“I want a train ticket to New York,” she says.
The woman studies her. “Honey, this train doesn’t go to New York.”
Her mouth falls open. “Well, where does it go?”
“You can go to Philadelphia and get a transfer to New York, but it costs extra.”
“How much,” she asks, gripping her only twenty-dollar bill tightly.
“At least thirty.”
She lets out a sigh and deflates, leaning her head on the counter. New York is perfect for her. Not Philadelphia. It’s too close. Still, it’s the closest thing she’ll get.
“I guess I’m going to Philadelphia.”
***
Winter is a cruel reminder to her that she can’t do anything right. She left in the spring with no heavy clothes, and now she suffers the consequences. The cold wind has brought one good thing: numbness. She can barely feel how hungry she is, or how lonely she is.
She found a decrepit house of kids like her after a few weeks of starving on the sidewalks. A bunch of strays, they called themselves. Street kids. They were quick and smart, as smart as strays could be, and they didn’t ask a lot of questions. Perfect for her. Who needs New York when you have plenty of cigarettes here in Philly?
Bulldog, the sort-of-leader of the group, walks beside her after a night of scavenging. They’re silent most of the way home. When they reach a red light, she holds herself against the wind. He hands her half a cigarette.
“Found it a block up. All these spoiled kids toss ’em when they’re barely smoked.”
She takes it for the warmth and to distract from the gnawing pain in her stomach. “Thanks,” she manages through a fit of coughs.
When she takes a deep breath to clear her lungs, she sees someone across the street, staring at her with unfeeling eyes. Even in the moonlight, she can see he is off. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t shiver. And he is staring at her with a living hunger.
Vampire.
She can’t move. Can’t breathe.
The light turns green.
His gaze has her pinned to the spot. Those eyes are all she sees. Like black marbles. He can taste her with those eyes. She lets him. How could she not? He is hypnotic…
“Yo, we’re gonna miss the light.” Bulldog drags her by the arm through the street.
The connection is broken; as soon as it is, she tells him to run and she doesn’t stop until they’re standing outside of the house. Then she vomits until it feels like her stomach is turned inside out. She can still feel its gaze on her. And once again, she did nothing to stop it. That thought brings more bile up her throat. Even after all this time, she is still powerless against those beasts.
“What’s wrong?” Bulldog asks, touching her back.
“Nothing,” she spits.
And she’s still lying about it.
***
Winter begins to loosen its grip, giving way to spring. It’s warm enough for her to take a walk by herself. She feels every muscle and bone in her body. She’s never been this skinny in her life.
If the hunger doesn’t drive her mad, the other kids will. They’ve been telling scary stories all night. She’s had to listen to the same tale told eight different ways about a bloodthirsty ghost, or werewolf or vampire, killing a family of innocents and legend has it, he roams these very streets…
She takes a deep breath and fills herself with the warm night air. It almost calms her. Even if the others don’t see them, she does. The vampires are everywhere. She can feel them around her, like knives at her back. They stare at the kids, like they know no one will miss them. The kids don’t believe her, no one does. They can’t see the difference like she can. They don’t see their empty eyes, and they don’t feel the chill. People don’t understand that they’re in danger.
The kids all think that they’re safe, because they always go out armed. But she knows they’ll come after anyone. Street kids or a family of hunters living in the suburbs of Bucks County.
She is one of the few kids who goes out alone at night. But even she isn’t completely defenseless. She has a nail, the flat end against her palm so the sharp end juts up between her fingers, a convenient way to hold it if she needs it in a pinch. She remembers her parents telling her that iron is the best weapon. It probably wouldn’t do any real damage, just enough for her to get away.
It’s been two long years since she lost her parents. No one has paid for it except her. And all she can think is that she let her parents down. She’s not a hunter. She doesn’t even have a real home. She has nothing to show for herself. Even after all this time, she is still weak and scared.
Her calves burn, and she has to sit down to take a breath. She’s been walking for at least an hour. The sounds coming from her stomach are more mechanical than natural.
As she rubs her legs, she hears voices.
“Are you kidding me? ‘I want to taste fear?’ What kind of macho crap is that?” A female voice drips with annoyance.
“Caesar is a good client, if a bit dramatic.” The male voice sounds bored, unemotional. “Besides, we’re not in the business of saying ‘no.’”
“You should think about changing occupations,” the female snaps.
She tries to make herself small. There is no one in sight, but she sees a staircase across the street, descending into the ground, like a cellar.
Adrenaline floods her body.
“We need to fill our vacancy, Ash.” The male sounds pissed.
“It’s not my fault that not everyone is clamoring to work at the Night House.” The female, Ash, stalks up the stairs, into view. Her black pencil skirt is barely long enough. A silky blue shirt is tucked into the top of the skirt. Her spiky heels click on the sidewalk as she paces. She’s like a supermodel. Gorgeous white-blond hair cascades down her back. Her arms and legs shine like alabaster in the moonlight.
Vampire. The word surges through her with every beat of her heart. She needs to get away quietly.
The male ascends the stairs, surveying the street with suspicion.
“What?” Ash says. “I need some air.”
The male looks right at her. “We have a listener.”
She runs, but then Ash is right there, towering over her. “How much of that did you hear?” Ash asks with full red lips.
“Nothing.” She searches for the quickest escape route.
Ash’s gaze softens. “Poor dear. Are you lost? You’re so thin.”
She tightens her fist around the nail against her palm. “I’m fine.”
Ash pouts. “Not yet. But I know how to make you right again. I can show you something. It’ll cure your hunger and make you feel wonderful.” The vampire smiles as her hand flies out.
Pain stabs her arm, and she covers it with her hand as blood rushes out.
The vampire’s thumb slides over the newly made cut. Ash puts the blood to her lips, then freezes with her finger in her mouth. She shouts, “FINN! Get over here!”
She feels it coming back to her, the sheer terror of that night. She can’t move, can’t do anything. Her parents’ screams ring in her ears. The female grips her arm so tightly that it hurts. She’s hauled to her feet.
The one named Finn appears at her side. His eyes are on the cut on her arm, the blood welling to the surface. He inhales, then says to Ash, “Bring her inside. And do not drink from her again.”
“Inside?” Ash’s voice goes up in pitch. Her nails bite into the girl’s arm as she grips her in place. “You’re not going to give her to Caesar, are you? She’s way too good for him.”
“I won’t repeat myself,” Finn says and disappears down those steps.
Her heart rate has tripled. She is waiting for a moment to run, to get away. She’d rather be a street kid than suffer whatever fate awaits her at the hands of these vamps. She doesn’t want to die like this. Gathering all her strength, she jams the nail into Ash’s side.
The vampire screams and releases her.
Running feels like getting stabbed in the lungs, but she puts everything into it. If she can just get to a populated area, get away from these vampires. If she can get back to Bulldog and the other kids, she will treasure her dirty home and her sad life. She will try harder and save herself and—
A searing pain tears through her shoulder. She is lifted off the ground by arms that feel like metal around her ribs. Her breath is stolen from her chest.
Ash hisses in her ear. “You’re dead.”
And then fangs sink into her neck.
It is so much worse than any shot from the doctor. Her neck burns, and she feels her blood being drawn in through the vampire’s straw-like teeth. She remembers her father telling her about their hollow teeth.
Why is she thinking of this now? If her parents were here, they would kill this vampire and save her. They could take her home.
Where is her vampire savior now?
Her body turns cold from the inside out. Her heart is made of ice. The air goes right through her.
The world turns black.
***
She wakes up to a throbbing in her head and shoulder. There is a bandage around her neck. Before she can scream for help or anything at all, she sees him leaning in the doorway. Finn.
“You’re awake,” he says. “Are you conscious?”
The memory comes back to her like a jagged dream. She pales at the realization.
“You’re…a vampire…” she manages through her bone-dry mouth.
“Smart,” he says with just a hint of sarcasm. “What gave me away?”
She can’t say anything. The fear has returned, like a faithful pet sitting on her chest.
“You’re in shock.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Great.”
“Did you save me?” she chokes out.
His eyes meet hers. They are black and seem to go on for miles. There is a buzzing in her skull. The room is shaking, melting away. The man in the doorway is not a vampire. He is her father. His face is stern, like
when she broke a glass by accident. But he walks over to her, and he touches her neck.
“That will need time to heal,” he says.
“Can we go home?” she asks her father.
“Where is your home?” he asks, sitting on her bed. He puts his arm to his mouth, and then he is bleeding on her.
“I don’t have a home,” she says. “Not since you and Mom died.”
Her neck stings and she winces. But it begins to fade, leaving a cooling sensation behind. He is healing her.
“What is your name?”
It takes her a minute to remember. “Bianca St. Germain. I’m so tired,” she says into the pillow. It’s comfortable in here. When she opens her eyes, the hallucination is gone. The vampire is standing over her, contemplative.
“I just recently let my hostess go. Perhaps you can fill her position. You could stay here. You would be safe.”
“I could have been dead.” She’s not sure if this is a good or bad thing. “Why did you stop her from killing me?”
He folds his arms. “I can use you.”
James
The silence that follows Bianca’s words sends chills up my spine. She expects me to turn away and never look back at her. There is so much hate in her heart. She thinks I will hate her as much as she hates herself.
I can’t fully decide what I think. But I know one thing. I earned these memories, and I can’t betray her trust.
“Bianca.”
She jumps at my voice.
I slip my hand back into hers. “None of this matters.”
She lets her eyes slide shut. Relief begins to ease the pain in her chest.
“You think you’re weak, but you’re not. Thinking like that is what’s killing you.”
We stay like that for a while. I hold her hand and focus on something other than her. I don’t want to be in her head. I’m trying to stay out of her emotions. What do I feel?
I want her to trust me. After a moment, I pull my sleeve over my hand and try to dab the tears away. She doesn’t fight me, but there is no energy in her. I turn her face toward me. She meets my gaze with a defeated one.
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