No Such Thing As Immortality

by Sarah Tranter

  I laughed awkwardly. ‘It was all … new to me.’

  As I watched her gaze now travel over my body I couldn’t help but gulp. Everywhere she looked, she left a trail of warmth. I felt aglow … and impossibly alive. And I was focusing more and more on her soft lips. Bugger! I was in so much trouble.

  Having completed what appeared to be an assessment, she looked away, clearly embarrassed. I attempted to pull myself together. I couldn’t begin to decipher what she was feeling, but her breathing had quickened. She asked nonchalantly, ‘And you weren’t hurt? Or your passenger?’

  She thought James had been in the car with me during the crash. ‘No.’ I grimaced. ‘You came off far the worst physically.’

  She returned to that bit of fluff. ‘I just wondered … bits are hazy … but you sat in the car. Later I couldn’t see too well … but your eyes … You are sure you weren’t hurt?’

  I chose my words carefully. ‘I think I was in shock … and I was terrified. But that was no excuse for my behaviour. It was abominable.’

  ‘Terrified of what?’ She looked at me, surprised.

  ‘Of you,’ I replied, meeting her eyes.

  ‘Of … me?’ she stuttered, looking away quickly.

  ‘You were very scary.’

  ‘So were you!’ she promptly countered.

  I groaned inwardly. It was inevitable really, when I remembered how close I had been to surrendering to the creature within. But I couldn’t bear to have her scared of me.

  She was preoccupying herself with reaching for a glass of water. The manoeuvre wasn’t simple for her broken body and I was there, possibly a little too quickly, to assist. There appeared to be a moment of confusion but she seemed to dismiss it. I handed her the beaker of water, careful not to let our hands touch. I hadn’t warmed them on the gel hand-warmer in my pocket – standard kit for the modern-day vampire: heat at the touch of a button.

  Her hands were visibly trembling. Was I scaring her again? Yet I couldn’t feel it – or at least I didn’t think I could. Surely I would feel her fear? I was so bad at this. As far as I could make out, she was currently experiencing a melee of sensations, unidentifiable singly, yet as a whole …? As a whole they didn’t seem unpleasant … quite the contrary. Surely feeling someone’s emotions should provide a clue as to what they were thinking? Yet I was presently baffled.

  I waited for her to take a couple of sips before taking the beaker from her hand and putting it back on the table. I immediately took a precautionary step back so my proximity couldn’t scare her further. I asked gently, ‘I scared you?’

  ‘No, you didn’t … I don’t think.’ She seemed to recall something – was that a momentary flash of fear … or not? ‘The situation … not getting out of the car … the dark … two strange men. I was just a bit exposed.’

  Dear God, this was so confusing. Was she scared of me? Wasn’t she scared of me? I was confusing myself. I couldn’t understand this girl, even with my hotline to her soul. ‘You were out late,’ I observed, softly.

  Almost petulantly, she retorted, ‘So were you!’

  ‘True.’ I wanted to add: But I am a vampire and you, a fragile-little-human girl. You were alone, miles away from home, in the early hours of the morning … and recklessly screaming at strange ‘men’! But didn’t. I settled with, ‘But you were miles from home.’

  She responded defensively, ‘I had a client function thing for work,’ before adding more quietly, ‘but decided to leave early.’

  ‘In the middle of the night?’ It came out more forcefully than I had intended.

  I was baffled by both the lack of sense she was making, and her feelings that now punched me. Literally. I collapsed into the chair beside the bed. There was no mistaking these. It was that hatred and anger I had experienced yesterday. And they were equally unpleasant today.

  ‘Yes!’ was her single-word reply, used to clearly end that topic of conversation. Her anguish was getting worse though. She was clearly recalling something unpleasant. But did it involve me? Or was it something to do with the reason she had left work ‘early’?

  I was sensible enough to realise now was not the time to satisfy my curiosity. It was becoming increasingly evident those feelings of hers, with the potential to literally cripple, were of the negative variety. The immediate aftermath of the accident being a case in point. The more positive ones, on the other hand, such as amusement and playfulness, and those others that I couldn’t readily identify, but which during this encounter seemed to be swimming around her body, rather than torturing me – were wondrous.

  A fresh spark of anger stabbed me. Damn. I had not been quite quick enough to divert.

  ‘It shouldn’t matter why I was on the road in the middle of the night – it wasn’t me that rammed someone off it, nearly killing them!’

  I needed to calm things down. I had first-hand experience of the volatility of this girl’s temper. If it didn’t hurt so much – or debilitate me – I would be fascinated by it. ‘Touché,’ I replied quietly, unable to get more than one word out. I thankfully felt the anger abate and she furnished me with a smirk. Being conciliatory, and now able to speak more than a single word, I added, ‘I of course owe you another apology. It is none of my business why you were out late.’ The spoken words didn’t betray my wish to make it my business, however.

  There was a long pause before she spoke. ‘That was really rude of me – sorry! I had my reasons for leaving and you just hit a nerve. Can we leave it at that?’

  I instantly changed the subject. ‘I am getting your car repaired. Although if you would like a different model, something newer and safer in an accident, it would only be right that I provide it.’

  Rowan looked at me as if I was insane. ‘That isn’t how it works, Nathaniel – Nate! What world are you in?’

  I chose to ignore the question. ‘It would only be right. I fail to see the difference between getting the old car appropriately repaired and providing you with a replacement.’

  She was feeling really muddled but her response was pretty adamant. ‘I like my old car. It is – or was – a classic!’

  ‘It would be no trouble at all. There are some exceptionally safe cars …’

  ‘No!’

  Bugger! Well then, the repair works would have to address safety. I couldn’t possibly allow her on the roads otherwise.

  ‘There’s no rush though. Fat lot of good the car will do me at the moment.’ She pointed to her foot. ‘I won’t be able to drive for weeks.’

  Of course she couldn’t. How stupid of me. ‘I will arrange a car and chauffeur.’

  She fixed me with completely incredulous eyes. ‘I’m sorry?’

  What had I done now? Up to meeting this girl, I had spent nearly two-hundred years devoid of confusion. But it was something I was now feeling near constantly – it was beyond unnerving. Very tentatively, ‘I said … I can arrange a car and driver … to drive you around until you are back on your feet … so to speak.’

  She started shaking her head in apparent disbelief. Why could I not understand her? ‘I thought that’s what you said!’ She seemed to be finding it hard to choose her words. She was still shaking her head and making exasperated sounds. In the end, she seemed to give up. ‘Look, that’s really … sweet of you. But on the rare occasion I need four wheels, I’ll use a taxi.’

  Had she just called me ‘sweet’? ‘But it would truly be no trouble – it is the very least I can do.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘But how are you going to get about on a day-to-day basis?’ I was beyond confused now.

  ‘How do you think?’ she asked impatiently. ‘On those!’ She nodded towards a pair of crutches, standing in the corner of the room.

  Dear God! It frustrated me just thinking about the process she was proposing. As a physically invulnerable immortal, I couldn’t begin to contemplate it. How could I possibly sit back and let her hobble around the streets of London on those things?

  My tone now had a despera
te edge to it. ‘Rowan – it is not right you should be struggling to get around because of me. It was my fault and, for that reason, you have to let me put it right!’ I was annoying her; I could see it in her body language as well as feel it. If I wasn’t careful, it would become a major issue for me. But this was not right. She had to see that.

  ‘I’m an independent woman living in the twenty-first century – in my thirties! I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.’

  I very much doubted that. After all, something had happened before the accident – and look at her irresponsible actions after it.

  ‘I’ve been on crutches before, and no doubt will be again.’

  There you go – I knew it!

  ‘I don’t need your excessive degrees of guilt to come up with ludicrous solutions for getting me around. So, please – just sort the car out and leave it at that!’

  Her annoyance was being added to with a splattering of anger, so I tactically withdrew. But if she honestly thought I could leave her to struggle around on those ridiculous contraptions, she wasn’t remotely as intelligent as I suspected her to be.

  ‘Point taken. Are we … on amicable terms again?’

  She looked at me, shaking her head again in exasperation. ‘Of course – just don’t get so effing freaky on me!’

  I had been called freaky a lot in the past twenty-four hours, I ruefully reflected. But I couldn’t help the smile – she really had no idea.

  I watched Rowan intently as she returned to her piece of fluff, which she had now pulled into a length of fibre. I caught her glance momentarily at me and thought she was going to say something, but she seemed to change her mind. Her emotions were at a more manageable level for me now, although I still couldn’t make head nor tail of them. They were as confused as I.

  My attention was drawn to a corridor, where I caught her name being spoken. A conversation between two females was taking place, and it was getting closer.

  ‘Are you expecting other visitors?’

  Before she had a chance to reply, the door was pushed open. Rowan gave me an odd look. I should have done better than that.

  A woman around Rowan’s age, and the petite woman I had passed earlier, mid-argument, entered the small room.

  I silently moved from my seat and stood at the end of the bed to allow their easy accommodation. The small woman’s eyes tracked me, whilst the other started talking.

  ‘Rowan love, sorry we’re late! I was all up and ready to go, but Mark refused to drag himself out of bed to—’ She stopped short on spotting me. ‘Oh! Sorry! You’ve a visitor!’ She gushed and blushed. Dropping the bag she held in her right hand, she quickly used both hands to smooth down her hair and non-existent creases from the front of her jeans. Giving me a nervous, self-conscious smile, she then looked pointedly at Rowan, raising her eyebrows.

  Rowan sighed and did the necessary introduction. ‘Clare, this is Nathaniel Gray – the idiot who ran me off the road. Nate – this is Clare, my little sister – the one who thinks you’ve something to hide.’

  I grimaced. Rowan certainly had a way with words. Clare’s blush deepened and she glowered at Rowan, who unashamedly returned the look with a too-innocent smile.

  I looked for similarities between the two sisters. Despite my enhanced powers of observation, other than the propensity to blush and smooth down their hair, I couldn’t discern any. Clare was taller than Rowan’s five foot four by a good three inches, and of a more fragile build. Her blonde hair was cut into a shoulder length bob. Her eyes were blue, to Rowan’s emerald green; her nose straight, to Rowan’s impish pert one; and her face round, to Rowan’s heart-shape. I really wouldn’t have identified them as sisters at all.

  Clare held out her hand to shake mine and I took it gently. I had spent the last few moments warming mine, so it would simply feel a little cool. It was no doubt pale, but that’s not the sort of thing I find gets noticed with handshakes. On meeting, people normally seem fascinated by my eyes.

  I smiled. ‘I am pleased to meet you, Clare.’

  Clare was giggling like an excitable school girl and I warmed to her instantly. ‘Nathaniel? Nate? I’ve got one of those, too … well, a Nathan,’ she rambled nervously. ‘I’ve got one, too – haven’t I, Rowan?’ Rowan shook her head and I heard her sigh. Not waiting for an answer, Clare continued, ‘Although he’s much smaller than you … not so … tall … or dark …’ She paused as she assessed my eyes and continued more slowly, ‘His eyes … are not so … so … gorg— umm, brown, either.’ She gave a shaky, high-pitched laugh. Her blush had progressively deepened during the course of her last sentence. ‘My Nathan … his eyes are blue … he’s six! And Tom is three.’

  I checked, and I definitely hadn’t been using my charm. I was in control of that power.

  The petite woman now walked determinedly forward and held out her hand. I tried to place her age, but found it surprisingly difficult. Perhaps late thirties? Standing at five foot, she had short, white-blonde hair. I thought what an unusual hue of grey her eyes were. Much lighter than James’ grey eyes.

  ‘Nathaniel Gray – I am Heather, Rowan’s aunt. I’m not sure you should be allowed on the roads!’ Clearly my ‘formidable’ first impression had not been wrong.

  ‘Aunty Hetty!’ Rowan exclaimed. ‘It was an accident.’

  I took the hand that had been raised to me for the handshake. As she held my own, she looked at me with eyebrows raised – perhaps in surprise? I wasn’t sure. I looked away. I was disconcerted. I had a distinct sensation this woman knew what I was. Was this paranoia? I could think of nothing which would have given me away. ‘It is my pleasure to meet you.’ I managed to keep the concern out of my voice.

  She proceeded to ask, with a deadpan face, ‘I am really intrigued – do you have many accidents?’

  This could be innocent enough, but something definitely didn’t feel right. My instinct was on alert. Now was the time to use the charm. We tend to limit its use. There is little or no satisfaction to be gained from obtaining a goal through using it. Neither could engaging it be considered honourable. But we did possess it for a reason. I knew my voice would be particularly silky, my eyes particularly attractive and hypnotic to their recipient. ‘No, Ms …?’

  ‘You may call me Heather.’

  I inclined my head. With the charm engaged, I said, ‘No, Heather – I am pleased to say I do not. But that does not make what I did to Rowan any better. I am mortified for having caused her injury and pain.’ Subliminally, I was reassuring her as to the perfectly normal human event the accident had been, and reiterating my human credentials.

  But I didn’t quite get the reaction I expected. Instead, she smiled – could it have been knowingly? – before moving away towards Rowan.

  Rowan’s Aunty Hetty was a concern. Some humans do not respond to our charm, but they are few and far between. With everything that had happened, this was beyond coincidence.

  I dragged myself away from my disturbing contemplations. I would reflect later. I reached the reluctant conclusion, however, that the arrival of Rowan’s family necessitated the end of my own visit; it would be deemed rude to stay longer. I must make my excuses and go.

  My eyes met again with Rowan’s. ‘I will not keep you from your family. Thank you for forgiving me.’

  Her eyes were mischievous, imp-like. ‘Who said anything about forgiving?’

  Rowan Locke was a challenge. It appeared I liked challenges. Continuing to hold her gaze, I smiled wryly. ‘I find myself needing to apologise, yet again.’ Lost in Rowan’s eyes, it was several moments before I was able to continue. ‘If you could find it in your heart to forgive, it would be …’

  The intensity of the moment was broken by Clare’s laugh. It brought me more to my senses.

  ‘Don’t push your luck!’ Clare warned, with humour in her voice. ‘There must be something about you … not that I can possibly imagine what! Rowan’s temper is notorious. I’m amazed you’re getting out of this room in one
piece!’

  Heather raised her eyebrows and appeared to give a sardonic smile, unnerving me further. But I said quietly, whilst looking at Rowan, ‘I believe I have already experienced her temper.’

  She blushed and looked away quickly.

  ‘And you came back for more?’ Clare continued. ‘Blimey! Thank you, by the way, for making sure she got to the hospital safely. She had quite a night, what with that … that … monster! A corporate get-together, my arse! He should be hung, drawn and quartered! And to think he sent her flowers … If I ever get my hands on him …!’

  I observed Heather blanch. She momentarily met my eyes, before looking away. Rowan shot a warning look at her sister and I could feel her discomfort and anguish. That feeling of hatred was beginning to rise. It wasn’t me! That feeling had been felt towards another monster. The mysterious ‘S’? And if I wasn’t sorely mistaken, he was the cause of Rowan’s nightmares.

  She didn’t hate me! But my inordinate relief was immediately replaced by other sensations. I felt my own anger – no fury – begin to rise. I realised I would be highly interested in getting my own hands on that other monster.

  I clutched hold of the window frame within my grasp. I needed the physical support to deal with Rowan’s response. And I took a few moments to stop imagining what I wanted to do to ‘S’. It would be more appropriate to explore those options when I knew who he was – and where he lived. There was no doubt, however, that my protective instincts towards Rowan Locke were fully engaged. It was definitely time to go.

  As soon as I could function, I stated, ‘I really must take my leave.’ Making myself walk towards the door, I looked fleetingly at Rowan, before saying gently and regretfully, ‘Goodbye, Rowan.’ It was all I could trust myself to say. I nodded to Clare and Heather.

  ‘Nate!’ Rowan called out as I reached the door.

  I paused and looked towards her. The expression on her face was as mixed up as her emotions but … yes. As she watched me about to leave, I could identify that one; she was sad about something. Which I didn’t like one little bit. I never wanted Rowan Locke to be sad.