by Claire Cray
"What an exciting time," I said with great satisfaction.
"Indeed," Merrick murmured, glancing at me, and I put my hands in my pockets to refrain from reaching for him. I wished we could go arm in arm, hand in hand, cheek to cheek, chest to chest! Now the longing reared its head like a dragon awoken from slumber. Why hadn’t I kept him in the bedroom? It would drive me crazy before long, desiring him while I had him so close.
But then, not even the most passionate embrace could come close to venting my extreme happiness. Strolling through Boston with Merrick, talking history, talking life! It was enough to make my head spin. No, indeed, there wasn’t much to do but to take the moments as they came, for each was turning out to be as thrilling as the next.
My attention drifted to a striking man coming out of a tavern with a pamphlet in hand. He was smoking a pipe as he squinted to read the contents under the dim light of the lantern outside, and he had the look of a poet about him—dark tousled hair, a high collar and cravat, the modern dark suit and boots favored by traveling aesthetes of a certain artistic bent.
What a pleasant thing he was to look at. Every twitch of his brow, every purse of his lips and shift of his shoulders was distinctly curious to me. I felt I could watch him for a long time yet, but all too quickly he was out of sight.
Not a minute later my glance landed on an older man about to pass us by. He was clearly a man of the sea, grizzled and weathered and sharp of eye. No lowly sailor, I guessed, but an officer, or perhaps even a captain. It had been a great while since I’d been star-struck by seafarers, but this one held a sharp appeal. Again I felt I could have watched him for a long while, but he was soon gone in the crowds.
Once more I had the strange sense that something had changed about the people around us. Surely there was nothing so unique about Bostonians—no, I couldn’t chalk it up to the difference in geography. They were simply not as I recalled. There was something lighter to them now, something simpler—they reminded me of birds in flocks, with their flurries of activity, melodious voices and variety of colors. In fact I got the distinct feeling that they were quite unlike me, and then I wondered whether they would even understand me if I spoke, or if they would be frightened. I felt like some otherworldly creature among them, a secret stranger in their midst, one who could raise alarm with one wrong move.
My face went smooth. Oh. Yes. Right.
"I nearly forgot," I murmured.
"You must not forget," Merrick said firmly. "Any sooner than you would turn your back to the sea in a storm."
I tore my gaze from a passing group of youths and looked at him, questioning.
Merrick met my eyes, and I thought I caught a glimpse of reluctance for a moment before he murmured, "You are not one of them anymore."
"What am I?" I asked suddenly, and briefly laid a hand over my own breast, where my heart beat on steadily. "Not a corpse, I know. Not some demon. What are we?"
"I've wondered the same thing over the years." Merrick was silent for a spell. When he spoke again, his tone held a trace of wonder. "I never imagined this would be so simple. I suppose it’s that strange grace of yours. You always have a way of looking like you belong exactly where you are."
That pleased me, and I was sure it showed. In truth, though, 'grace' seemed like such an unlikely term for me that I could not help but laugh. "That's quite a compliment, Merrick."
Merrick smiled at me, understanding my amusement. "You laugh, but it is a rare talent. I’ve always admired it. And it is such a gift to have you with me again, William. I hope I'll not disappoint you."
Blast it all, I wanted to backflip over the moon, hollering for joy. I would have settled for an elegant reply. Instead I opened my mouth, said nothing, shook my head, and smiled like a fool before I managed to stammer out, “Nonsense. Never.”
We reached the corner of the teeming public square. Across the intersection was the old town house of legend, and on the steps the people were gathered in raucous clumps, just as they had since the days before our Independence. How wonderful they looked in their muted jackets, their many shades of hair. I had an urge to wander into their midst. I imagined they would scatter at first, like minnows, and then slowly close in around me again.
My teeth tingled strangely. I lifted a hand, testing them with my thumb, which caused a curiously pleasant sensation.
"Do you see that tavern with the balcony?" Merrick pointed across the public square. "Would you like to share a bottle of wine there and watch the street for awhile?"
I stopped tonguing my canines and nodded emphatically. "I would."
"Try to get used to your teeth. They'll feel strange for some time."
"I see," I said, my curiosity piqued. "Until they grow sharper?"
"Not only that. They’re much more a part of you than before. Your venom runs through them, and your thirst will gather there."
"Fascinating." We set off across the square. "How do you describe such a metamorphosis, Merrick? You're a physician—surely you have some ideas."
Merrick glanced at me, arching an eyebrow, and put a hand to my shoulder in a friendly way. "Stay close."
"Is there anything else like this in the world? I must admit I don't know much natural history outside of what you've taught me. Are there other animals like us? I’ve heard there are bats, down in the jungles—have you heard of them?"
"Such a tireless mind," Merrick laughed, shaking his head. "Your curiosity promises very interesting years to come."
"Well,” I frowned. “I don’t suppose anyone in my place would be without questions."
"Of course." Merrick squeezed my shoulder and let his hand drop as we climbed the steps to the tavern. "Stay close," he said again.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The tavern was old and dark, with the air of any watering hole in the early hours of night. There was still plenty of space between the tables, though they were well populated, and the barmaids were moving about with a casual looseness, having not yet adopted the subtle fighting stances required of women who worked among drunks at night. The patrons were a goodly mix of well-dressed merchants, Irish workers and rougher fellows from humbler walks of life—a scene straight out of Boston lore that gave me a warm feeling of nostalgia. I had always wished I'd been born just a few decades earlier, running with Sam Adams and helping steer history.
Well, there was time yet for such experiences. Now I could live to see whatever thrills lay ahead for the human race, even if they were more than a lifetime off. Just as Merrick had seen civilization chapter by chapter since Henry the Eighth, I would watch this exciting new century unfold thanks to the undying vitality I had just inherited.
How long would my life have been, I wondered, if I were not a vampire? How would I have died? A duel with an angry husband? A disaster at sea? A nasty infection? I supposed it might have been old age, but with the way my luck had been going since I turned eighteen, that was dubious.
There were four tables on the tavern’s narrow balcony, a rather sophisticated arrangement, and half were taken by well-to-do gentleman who spoke amongst themselves in the calm timbres of the upper class. They turned to look when we stepped out onto the deck, and finding us strangers they nodded politely in unison. Merrick and I returned the greeting and sat down at the far end, where our conversation would blend in with the sounds of the street below.
I watched the barmaid set down a bottle of claret, and when she stretched her arm across the table to place my glass before me, her sleeve came up to expose the inside of her forearm. My mind went blank.
Satin smooth.
Milky white.
Cerulean veins, singing like sirens.
I jerked in surprise when I felt Merrick’s hand on my shoulder, squeezing hard. I looked at him, eyes wide as saucers, and instantly realized I’d just lost my senses.
"This will do nicely, won't it?" he asked me, holding my gaze, and I nodded dumbly as he politely dismissed the barmaid. Then he covered my hand in his and smiled reassurin
gly before reaching to pour the wine himself. "Are you all right?"
For a few moments I could only blink as my thoughts fell back into place. "Yes," I said, disarmed by my own response. "Only for a moment I thought, erm, as if I’d seen something..."
"Arousing." Merrick finished pouring his own glass and held it up.
Well, there was a word that went well with his lips. I nodded and tapped my glass to his. "Yes."
"I will try to speak plainly with you, William." Merrick took a drink and set his glass down. "Though it has been a long time since I discussed such matters openly."
"You've always been an excellent teacher," I said, forgetting to drink for myself as I silently prayed that a landslide of revelations was forthcoming.
Merrick turned the base of his glass on the table, studying me in that calmly cautious way he had. "This is a beautiful life,” he said slowly. “Especially in the beginning. And I can see how well suited you are for it. You’ll be astonished by the pleasure and beauty that awaits you.”
“I am astonished.”
“And you’ve not yet heard a symphony with these ears, or read a sonnet with this clarity of mind. It’s almost like seeing the ocean for the first time, but having never heard of it before, having never imagined a body of water larger than a puddle.”
I nodded. That sounded about right. As if I’d only seen the world through a peephole, and now the door had been opened wide. And in fact my heightened senses made it seem more pleasurable every time I took in his handsome features, almost too pleasurable to keep track of the matter at hand. But I managed somehow.
“It is a beautiful life,” Merrick said again, even more cautiously than before, as if he were weighing each syllable for all its implications before he allowed it passed his lips. “But it is ruled, completely, by thirst.” The slightest groove appeared between his brows, the beginnings of a frown. “There were reasons, William, why I didn’t want to turn you. And I still…”
“No. No, no.” I shook my head, straightening in my chair to adjust its position at the table, as if that would fix the discomfort his words instantly sparked. “You mustn’t regret it now. I can’t bear to hear that you—”
“Please don’t misunderstand me.” There was some disappointment in Merrick’s tone. “I understand I’ve given you doubts, but I pray you’ll have some trust in me now that we’re in clear waters.”
I was instantly contrite, but just as dismayed. “It’s not trust that’s the matter, Merrick. It’s the thought that you never wanted this.” Even to speak it aloud still made my chest twist strangely, a feeling that, to my displeasure, was just as amplified now as any other.
“Never wanted this!” Merrick breathed, incredulous. Leaning forward suddenly, he pinned my hand to the table with his own. “Are you mad?” he whispered fiercely. “Never wanted this, William? Is that what you think?”
“W-what else?” I stammered, though in truth I couldn’t have been more stunned by his sudden show of passion.
Merrick’s lips parted, but for a moment he only stared, his gold and copper eyes wide in disbelief. “I’m sorry,” he said at last, and shook his head as if he were still beyond words. “I never imagined you would see it that way. But I realize I was out of touch in more ways than I knew.”
“It’s just that you fought it so hard,” I said quietly. “And I hear you have your reasons, but I don’t know your demons. Or your memories. Or even the old habits you speak of.”
Merrick stared at me in silence. Then, glancing at the others on the balcony, he reluctantly let go of my hand. “Of course you don’t,” he murmured, and for one unbearable instant, his face was so fully possessed by sadness it seemed fit to crumble into a thousand pieces. But then he shook his head and raised his eyes to mine again with that stoic certainty he adopted so well. “William, I have no excuse. I was already out of my mind when I met you. But I swear to you I have wanted this since the moment you fell down in the mud at my feet.” He paused. “Perhaps the moment you stood upright, if I’m to be entirely honest about it.”
A puff of laughter escaped me, though I was just climbing out of that well of feelings I couldn’t seem to drain. “Right,” I said. “Well, then I wager it was actually after I had a bath.”
Merrick smiled gently. “You’re wrong.”
“I must seem like a child to you,” I said with a sigh, leaning back in my chair. “Always asking for comfort.”
“No, you don’t seem like a child. I’m quite aware of how I’ve taxed your patience, not to mention your curiosity.”
That did make me feel better, although I remained doubtful that a two-and-a-half-century-old man would not occasionally tire of my—well, exuberance. But never mind that. “I’m sorry I interrupted you,” I said. “You were saying this life is ruled by thirst.”
“How simply you put it!” Merrick laughed softly. “You’re already much better at this than I ever was.” In fact, my words did seem to relax him. “Yes. And that is no exaggeration.” As if he’d ever exaggerated in his life. “The way you reacted to the girl’s wrist is just a hint of what you’ll feel in the real depths of the night, when your thirst is demanding. But it is always with you, like a…” he stopped himself, hesitating. “Like another being within you. Another animal all its own. And it will make its own demands, exert its own will upon you, and there will be times when you’ll feel you can do nothing but submit to it. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” I grimaced, ambivalent. “Maybe?”
Merrick smiled slightly. Despite his seriousness, the good cheer of the evening had returned, and the conversation had regained a much more pleasant atmosphere. “You will. I’m only warning you now, so that you’re not entirely taken by it, when it happens.”
“Just a moment.” I backtracked slightly. “Do you mean I’ll be more out of my head than that? How am I supposed to keep my wits about me?”
“You won’t be out of your wits. Quite the contrary. But once you set your sights on someone—once your thirst sets your sights on someone—you will find it almost impossible to resist.”
“So I must carefully set my sights?”
“That’s not exactly how it works,” Merrick said reluctantly.
“How the Hell does it work?” I laughed, feeling like I was stumbling over the rules of some complicated new card game.
“Your feelings. Your emotions. Once the night settles in, everything you feel will be tied to your thirst. Affection might arouse it. Attraction might arouse it. Admiration. And one will feed the other, back and forth, until you’re at their mercy.”
“Hmm.” I pursed my lips thoughtfully. “I must say it’s a bit difficult to imagine. I really lost my mind for a moment when she reached over me like that. Surely you didn’t feel that way every time you saw me before tonight.”
Merrick arched a brow and fixed me with a look, and damned if goose bumps didn’t rise on my arms. “William,” he said, and said it so weightily, so meaningfully, that it was more than enough of an answer. But still he went on, sliding his hand close to mine on the table. “I wanted you so badly,” he murmured, “there were moments, when you were pressed against me, when I was afraid I’d lose myself and devour you whole.”
My whole body tightened, and I shivered as his words brought memories of our most intimate moments cascading through me. Adding fuel to the fire was the knowledge that our nights together would be different now that he was no longer afraid of killing me. Strangely, my teeth were tingling at the thought, and I had the distinct urge to take his hand and bite it. Swallowing the wave of lust that had overwhelmed me for a moment, I found refuge in another question. "Will I still thirst for you, then?" I asked, "Whenever I feel affection toward you?"
Merrick was not always easy to read, but there was the odd unguarded moment when I could look into his eyes and have no doubt about his feelings. This was one of those moments: the pleasure and desire in his eyes was dark and exquisite. "Yes," he said. "At times you will."
"And can I drink your blood?" It wasn't just my teeth. For a moment, my whole body buzzed with a hot, glittering anticipation, which only deepened as I watched Merrick's amber gaze move to my lips as if he was intrigued by the words they spoke.
"You can drink of me whenever you like," he said softly, wrapping his fingers around his glass again. The rare sight of his strong, elegant hands without their gloves always delighted me, and now their naked beauty was almost unbearable.
"Would that sustain me?" I asked, after taking a breath to calm my senses. We had all night, after all. Yes. Steady on, for God’s sake. "Drinking your blood?"
Merrick shook his head. "It is too potent, and tires the senses; not unlike liquor. And it does not dull the real thirst."
The real thirst. Yes, now we were getting to the meat of it. Funny—though I knew I had spent many long hours worrying in agony over this, presently it did not seem all that troubling. Indeed it appeared that nothing in the world could dampen my spirits, not even the darkest prospect imaginable. Or, what I had previously taken to be a dark prospect. I was not altogether sure how I felt about it now, other than curious, and perhaps something more intent than that. Perhaps.
"You once told me you drank animals from time to time," I said, keeping my voice very soft, though the clamor of the busy street below and the chatter of the other men gave us an abundance of privacy. "Does that sustain you?"
Slowly, Merrick shook his head again. "It does for a time, and it is better than nothing, for keeping one's faculties in order. But you will gradually weaken, and again, it does not dull the real thirst. Nothing does."
"I suspected as much." I worked my lower lip gently between my teeth, testing their sharpness. They still felt the same to me, only they buzzed pleasantly at the slightest contact. "I could think of no other reason why you would live a life you found so shameful, but that you had no choice."
Merrick lifted his eyebrows slightly. "Did it not occur to you that I might simply be too weak to resist temptation?"