No Such Thing As Immortality

by Sarah Tranter

  Finally, she said, ‘My car, Nate. My car.’

  The edges of my mouth rose slightly and I bowed my head in acknowledgement. And for the moment, I walked away from Rowan Locke. And it hurt like hell.

  Chapter Four

  The Declaration

  ‘I should not be doing this,’ I muttered, plucking another white rose, removing its thorns with my fingertips so they couldn’t damage their intended recipient, and adding it to the not inconsiderable pile resting in the crook of my left arm. I looked around the rose garden to find another prime specimen. My choice was restricted to the early flowering varieties, but I wanted white.

  ‘I should not have gone to see her,’ I continued, this time in my head in case I was overheard, and scooped down to pick my latest selection. ‘She is human, for God’s sake … and is torturing me … and her Aunty Hetty is more than disturbing me. I should be settling in Australia. Not … not …’

  I fell to my knees as the latest onslaught of emotions seared through me. Damn! How the hell was I going to do this?

  All James had been able to do was shake his head at me the whole way back from the hospital. ‘Do not dare say “I told you so!”’ I had hissed, and he had simply carried on shaking his head.

  ‘I’m out of your head for the rest of the day,’ he had declared, on our arrival back at Ridings an hour ago. ‘I can’t take it, I really can’t. I didn’t think it could get worse but all the angst is now mingled with stuff that belongs in one of Elizabeth’s God-awful girlie flicks. I tell you, you really should consider a future in writing horror targeted at vampires – you’ve got the formula spot on! You’ve actually managed to turn my stomach. If I could vomit, I would.

  ‘But I’ll buy you some time. I will keep the others out of both of our heads for the day. It should give you a chance to pull yourself together and come to a sensible decision. That way, they won’t even need to get the tiniest whiff of what you’re currently thinking. Because, Nate, believe me, hysterics wouldn’t even go there!’

  ‘I refuse to think about all the problems,’ I muttered, taking myself and the flowers through the French doors into the study. Laying the flowers on my large mahogany Regency desk, I sat in the leather chair and took a piece of heavy, watermarked writing paper from the drawer. I had called the courier. Now all I needed was a note to accompany the flowers that would soon be on their way to the hospital.

  ‘I am definitely not going to think about the tort—’ I squealed as the latest sensations, courtesy of Rowan Locke, rocked through me.

  Why the bloody hell was she so angry? No, furious! Oh, dear God! What the hell was I thinking? I had no way of coping with this!

  I clutched my head in my hands and attempted to ride it out, but on reflection, decided banging my head against the desk was more effective – at least then I had control over something, albeit my repetitive head movements. I thought of wild animals in a zoo, exhibiting repetitive behaviour, stressed due to their confinement; their torture was simply different.

  As it ebbed, I realised a rethink was in order. Could this truly be worth it? But then I remembered her eyes and her grin and the wonderful sensations I had earlier felt in her presence. I needed to feel that way again. My head piped up: there is no way of knowing she will ever agree to see you. But I had to try.

  Taking a deep breath for fortification, I reached out for my fountain pen, whilst trying to discover where the sheet of writing paper had gone. Unclenching my right fist to pick up the pen, I found the missing paper crumpled up into the tiniest ball within.

  If only she could learn to control her emotions, it would all be so much easier.

  Before talking myself out of it, I retrieved another sheet of paper and wrote:

  Dearest Rowan,

  I know not whether these are to your taste, so when you are back on your feet, I would be most honoured if you would consider making your own selection from the Rose Garden at Ridings.

  PLEASE find it within your heart to forgive me.

  Nate

  (Nathaniel Gray – the idiot who ran you off the road)

  Putting the pen down, I acknowledged this was not remotely a sensible course of action … and there was going to be hell to pay with regards to the others. I frowned at the realisation: I was going to have to tell them my intentions. It was only fair they had a chance to distance themselves from the exposure risks.

  Folding the letter up, placing it in an envelope, and scooping up the flowers, I made my way back out across the extensive gardens to the west of the main house. Even in my current state, I could still appreciate the beauty of Ridings. It was for that reason I had changed little since becoming its master in 1809. As I looked now at the grand Georgian façades, added by my grandfather in the 1760s during his extensive programme of modernisation, and the pinnacled Elizabethan towers, I couldn’t help but wonder … would Rowan accept my invitation? Turning to take in the classical gardens, the lake and Lancelot ‘Capability’ Brown parkland as far as the eye could see … Would it meet with her approval? I utilised some speed, hoping to dispel the disconcerting satisfaction I felt at the thought of Rowan at Ridings.

  I passed Elizabeth and Frederick’s marital home – one of two dower houses on the estate, the other being occupied by Madeleine. And frowned. Some one-hundred-and-sixty-five years after the event, I still didn’t like the fact that Elizabeth had moved out of the main house. What was mine was hers, no matter the traditional laws of succession. Yet she had been adamant – insisting it was time, and that she had always loved the ‘dolls’ house’ appearance of the six-bedroomed Queen Anne property. We all valued our privacy, I more than most … but I still didn’t have to like her decision.

  I was at the gatehouse, at the end of the eight-mile approach to the house, in plenty of time to meet the courier. I could hear him talking through his headpiece, three miles away.

  Once the flowers were safely en route, I had time to kill. I wanted to go riding, but couldn’t risk it during Rowan Locke’s conscious moments. Although I couldn’t hurt myself, my constant falling off would no doubt unsettle my mare, Bess. I had not fallen from her for one-hundred-and-ninety-five years.

  Neither did I have a hope of concentrating on reading. As for business … My current interests: the running of Gray Portfolio, Gray Investments’ property arm – or at least its strategic running – and my occasional but highly lucrative trading within the art world, would have to wait until I was feeling less traumatised by events. I would lie down. That’s what I would do. It was definitely the best position to be in whilst Rowan’s emotions were raging through me.

  And then tonight, when she was asleep and I was that bit more in control of myself, I would confess.

  Rowan had fallen into a deep, probably drug-aided sleep early, not making it past 8.18 p.m., and I had taken the opportunity to sleep, too. Not that I needed much, only a few hours every three or four days, but I welcomed the oblivion it offered me. As usual, I was ravenous on waking, so had visited the estate farm.

  It was now 11.30 p.m., and I realised I couldn’t continue sitting in my study’s fireside chair, staring into the flames. I was putting off what needed to be done. In any event, whereas the fire could warm my otherwise cold limbs, in much the same way as the intake of fresh blood, it was failing to warm my entire being from the inside out. Nothing had ever warmed me like Rowan Locke. Her touch, her look, her playfulness. Only she made me feel alive.

  I sighed and started to make my way to the drawing room. Everyone was gathered there, no doubt talking about me – again. For that reason, I refused to dip into their heads or listen to their voices.

  The strange calm I had been experiencing, having committed myself to a course of action, most likely the wrong one, but a course none the less, was rapidly being replaced with trepidation.

  I took a deep breath and pushed open the door. The atmosphere in the room was sombre. The music Elizabeth was playing on the fine grand piano, melancholy. I knew they were worried ab
out me; they were about to get more so. Without as much as making eye contact with any one of them, I addressed the room, before I lost my nerve.

  ‘It is far from easy to keep a secret among us, so I am holding my hands up now. This is difficult for me, so please do not interrupt. Please do not snarl or growl at me. Please do not roar at me.’

  I ignored James’ hissed, ‘Shit!’ and frantic rants in my head.

  ‘Having reflected, I have reached the indisputable conclusion, I do not wish to run away from Rowan Locke – but quite the opposite. Indeed, if she is amenable, I wish to spend some time with her.

  ‘In her company today, I felt alive – more alive than I felt even when I was alive. I did not think it was possible to ever feel that way. Do not ask me to explain the logic. There is none. I know it has no future, that I am being irresponsible – but perhaps I have been responsible too long. I have no idea why the accident happened, or why we have this connection, but without it, I would not have had the pleasure of being introduced to Rowan Locke.

  ‘I am being open and honest with you because of the exposure risks, but this is something I need to do. I understand if you wish to distance yourselves from me. Whatever you think, I ask for some privacy, so I have a hope of dealing with this issue in the most appropriate manner. I also require vows from you all, that you will not take matters into your own hands and … eliminate her.’

  I had said it. In fact I had said it to the large eighteenth-century Aubusson rug, upon the floor in front of the fire. But now I let myself look around for the first time. The room contained three stunned vampires – and James. I would deal with him first.

  With arms crossed, slowly shaking his head, he was leaning against the window frame with one foot resting against the wall. At an inch shorter than me, he stood at just over six foot. His short blond hair, grey eyes and slight build were as different from my own dark unruly hair, brown eyes and more athletic build, as were our personalities. Two years shy of my thirty-five mortal years, he had always looked younger. I scrubbed my face with my hand whilst waiting for him to speak. He was as much in need of a shave as I.

  He met my look, shook his head and sighed. ‘What are we going to do with you? I’m currently resisting the very strong urge to flee, because the moment they un-drop their jaws and start blinking again … Believe me, going home to listen to some very loud music, whilst interacting within the far more reassuring world of the Playstation, has never sounded more appealing. But the sick part of me wants to hang around and watch. Because, Nate – you’re so for it!’

  ‘Oh. My. God!’

  I turned to look at Elizabeth, whose whispered utterance had sounded. She was before the piano on a double stool, Frederick at her side.

  ‘You were warned …’ James muttered.

  Elizabeth’s soft brown eyes were now focusing on me, staring in incredulous disbelief.

  I heard a sigh and spared a glance to her left.

  Frederick was shaking his golden-haired head dramatically. ‘Just how much more bizarre are things going to get around here?’ he demanded. ‘And just how the blazes are we meant to deal with this one? Short of chaining him somewhere, that is!’ He gave Elizabeth’s hand a gentle squeeze before standing up and raising his arms above his head in a full body stretch. Wearing hipster jeans and a designer torn t-shirt, it was hard to imagine him as he had once been – a distinguished twenty-six-year-old cavalry officer who had fought at the Battle of Waterloo.

  ‘Right, I need a drink,’ he announced.

  ‘You fed this afternoon. You can’t be hungry all ready,’ James exclaimed.

  ‘No, a drink, drink. A real drink.’

  ‘We don’t drink, drink, Freddie. You know it doesn’t work.’

  ‘I know. But I’m struggling to get my head around all this conventionally. The way ahead always used to be so much clearer after a drink … Nothing’s as it was, so you never know. Tell me the idea of getting foxed doesn’t currently appeal?’ James shook his head, conceding the point. Frederick continued, ‘It’s got to be worth a try. Quantity, I’m thinking … Anyway, why continue to waste a cellar full of priceless vintage claret?’ Turning to look at me. ‘You’ve no objections?’

  I slowly shook my head.

  Elizabeth had still to speak further, so my attention turned to Madeleine on the sofa. She was opening and shutting her mouth, seemingly unable to choose the words she wanted to unleash. It was, however, highly evident she wanted to unleash.

  ‘Bring me a glass, too,’ she finally choked out.

  ‘A glass? I’m going straight from the bottle, Mads.’

  ‘Bring me a bottle then.’

  The moment Freddie had left the room, Madeleine was out of her seat and right before James. The top of her elegant blonde-bobbed head reached his shoulders. She started to prod her index finger in his chest and proceeded to snarl, ‘You! This is your fault!’

  ‘Me? Me? Just how is this, my fault? Do you see me chasing after a mortal girl who tortures me – and I’d happily drink dry given half a chance?’

  I cringed.

  ‘Hey? Do you? No … You see muggins here, charged with the bloody impossible, and where’s the appreciation?’ Emitting a low growl, he continued, ‘Stop prodding me, Madeleine. I’m really not in the mood for this!’

  She hissed, ‘You were charged with, at the very least, getting him to the other side of the world. Instead, you take him to her BEDSIDE! All.’ Prod. ‘Your.’ Prod. ‘Fault!’ Double prod.

  It was my turn to now openly gape. I had never before seen Madeleine anything but calm. She had chosen to join us shortly after Frederick – the two of them having formed a close kinship in the decades before. Since her arrival in 1847, she had kept harmony amongst us, always mediating between James and myself, always the voice of reason. Now …? I knew it was down to her being worried and because she had no answers as to why our normal existence had been breached. But it wasn’t right that their existence should be turned upside down, too …

  ‘What did I tell you?’ James relayed silently, whilst his audible growl grew louder as Madeleine continued to prod. He continued silently, ‘Why am I getting the damned prodding? But I know what’s going on in your head. Yes, normality has been breached. And yes, it’s affecting us all. But we will not let you do this alone.’

  Madeleine clearly hadn’t finished. ‘Do you have any idea how serious this is? And this afternoon: Leave him be. Stay out of his head. Give him time. Look what the result of that is!’

  It was time to intervene. I was actually feeling sorry for James. Things really were so far from normal. ‘Madeleine …’

  ‘Enough from you!’ she snapped, still refusing to lose eye contact with James. ‘There is no hope of anything sensible coming out of your mouth at the moment. That is why someone responsible …’ she continued to prod ‘… was meant to take care of things. I should have known.’ Finally turning her round, hazel-eyed, twenty-something face to me, prompting a relieved sigh from James, she spoke gently, ‘You are sick. Hence you reaching such a ridiculous decision. You need help. You should have been physically bundled on to that jet before matters got any worse and left us to sort things out.’

  My eyes flashed. ‘I would have liked to see you try!’

  Walking back into the room, with a couple of cases of wine stacked one on top of the other and … a sword tucked under his arm, Frederick casually reflected, ‘Whose to know what normal is any more?’

  Depositing the boxes and sword on the Chippendale sideboard nearest the door, he repositioned himself between Madeleine and me. Draping his arms over our shoulders, he said, ‘Calm. We need calm. Nate has dropped a bit of a bombshell, but—’

  ‘But he has my support,’ Elizabeth interrupted, from her still-sitting position.

  ‘What?’ Madeleine hissed in disbelief, pivoting around to face her.

  I met Elizabeth’s eyes. I love you, sweetheart.

  Smiling meekly back, she continued, ‘I’m worried. Very worri
ed. I would prefer another course of action. But I have to respect his decision. Having known him all of my lives, I know he won’t have taken it lightly. I’ve never known him to make a wrong decision. Ever. And if he believes this is the way to get through his current problems, that it’s worth going through the pain, for the pleasure of being in this woman’s company, then … I will do all I can to help him through it. In any event, we haven’t a cat in hell’s chance of changing his mind!’

  Frederick moved back over to Elizabeth, wrapped his hands into her long, wavy brunette hair, and kissed her. He was clearly reluctant to pull away, but finally said, ‘Well, the wife’s spoken. Seconded. You guys can fight it out amongst yourselves. I’m having a drink!’ With that, he gave Elizabeth another quick kiss before moving to the sideboard.

  ‘Has everyone gone stark raving mad around here?’ Madeleine shrieked, looking from one to the other of us and waving her hands around in the air. ‘Is there something in the blood? Has someone checked the pigs out recently?’

  James chuckled. ‘Yeah – Mad Pig Disease!’

  Madeleine turned to glower at him.

  ‘Is everyone forgetting just how remotely not normal everything is here? And Nathaniel, in his emotionally befuddled, damaged state, is actively seeking out the culprit? Is it only me that can see the danger here? I mean – even members of her family are charm-immune! We have to talk some sense into him before—’

  ‘I’ve tried, Mads,’ James interrupted. ‘But he really isn’t listening. And you know he’s never “done” listening.’

  A determined look crossed Madeleine’s face. ‘So how will you feel when you kill her, Nate?’ The pain – my pain – soared through me. I sank into the nearest chair. I desperately tried to dispel the image of Rowan, lifeless, drained of blood.

  ‘I’m sorry, love,’ she quickly added, ‘I really am. But can’t you see I’m desperate here. You—’

  ‘He resisted it that night, Mads, despite everything that was going on,’ James generously interceded. ‘There was a moment there when I thought I’d have to enter the fray but he conquered it. In his shoes, I’m not sure I would have had the strength. And at the hospital it wasn’t the same. He’s pre-warned so—’