by Claire Cray
"No, that did not occur to me."
"Your faith in me defies reason."
"So you say, but you've never made a reasoned argument for that position."
Merrick laughed suddenly, revealing his perfect white teeth.
"Faith," I repeated, smiling and taking up my glass again. "Faith implies a lack of evidence."
"I shall have to mind my diction better, with a companion so well versed in debate."
Finally I took a drink of wine, and nearly choked. It was so good. The liquid hit my tongue like a strange caress, and I felt a shiver as it slid down my throat. "Good God," I murmured, staring at the glass. "I was going to say how nice it was that I could still enjoy a drink. No wonder you were always having tea."
"It was all I could do.” He shook his head, looking down on the street with an expression between bemusement and astonishment. “You can’t imagine how glad I am to have you here with me like this."
I looked from the wine to him, my heart swelling. "The pleasure is entirely mine, Merrick."
"You would be mad to think so." Merrick stretched out one of his legs beneath the table, pressing his knee against mine.
Yes, I was in high spirits, and it was surely no coincidence that I felt closer to him than I had ever felt before. Whatever lay ahead, we were creatures of a kind, now. I was his companion, bound to him more surely than those old papers of indenture had ever bound me, and nothing could come between us now. Even death had become a distant abstraction.
Our conversation was sparse for awhile as we drank our wine, and as long as his leg was pressed against mine like that, I was content to turn my attention to the street below. The crowd had begun to change as the night settled in and the usual pedestrians of the evening emerged for their activities. Men came trickling into from the side streets that led to the docks, funneling into the taverns, and the gentlewomen on the arms of their husbands were replaced by ladies attired more purposefully for darker hours. I watched in fascination as one such woman attracted a young sailor: He fell in step beside her, leaning close with some leering remark that she took with a practiced smile. She let him keep pace with her, and by and by they disappeared around a dark corner, almost certainly headed for some rented room—she was dressed just slightly too well for an alleyway encounter, and besides, the hour was early for that resort.
My attention was then drawn back to the balcony where we sat. A trio of young men had come up, and they exchanged a smattering of greetings with the others before settling in at the table nearest to us. They were all plainly attired and neatly groomed, and one carried a book that he placed upon the table. Students, I guessed, perhaps from Harvard. I had always envied the university life. What a fine thing it would be to study the days away, gathering at night to discuss philosophical tracts or economics, all the while smelling so warm and inviting. I found myself testing my teeth with my tongue again.
"How do you find Boston?"
I blinked at Merrick's voice. I had been staring at the young men, and was sure he had noticed. "Pardon me," I said, shaking my head slightly. "Yes. Boston. Delightful."
"I don't expect we'll stay for long." Merrick refilled my glass. "A few weeks, perhaps. As I recall, you've long been keen to travel. Is there anywhere in particular you long to go?"
Was there! My head had long been filled with dreams of adventure in exotic lands—I had, after all, once thought to join a whaling crew. "I have a long list," I replied.
"I imagined as much." Merrick glanced at me fondly. "That's very good."
"But what about you?" I asked, suddenly perplexed. "You have been quite content to remain in one place for all these years, have you not?"
"That," he replied, frowning slightly, "was an uncommon situation."
"Well." Quite, I thought wryly, but of course he meant something different. "Uncommon in what way?"
Merrick glanced at me again, and I briefly worried that I had touched on another stubborn mystery before he explained. "First, I was alone. If we were to stay in one place, the two of us, things would become rather troublesome before long." There was another pause. "It's better to move on before our activities cause a stir in the community."
"Our activities," I said, underlining the point without thinking, but the silence that followed made it all the more clear that he was still not eager to discuss that one critical matter. The thirst he’d described at length, but not yet the drinking. Not the killing. Was he holding back because he wanted me to feel it out for myself, as had always been his habit as a teacher? Or was he wary of my reaction, as he had been for those first weeks of our acquaintance, when he had withheld his true nature from me until, after badgering him endlessly, I had finally asked him straight?
I pondered the possibilities in his silence. Perhaps there was a different reason. It could be that the matter was simply unfit to be discussed on a tavern balcony. Maybe it was unfit to be discussed at all, as some topics certainly were, at least in polite company. But I could scarcely see how we could make it much longer without addressing it plainly, at least once. After all, we were together now, and surely it would not be long before the next inevitable event came to pass.
For the moment I relented, deciding I could summon the manners to at least wait until we were not quartered so closely with members of the public. "Is it not difficult for you?" I asked, carefully broaching another topic I had long wondered about. "Working as a doctor?"
If I was not mistaken, Merrick looked vaguely apologetic as I let the topic rest. "No, not in general." He seemed to consider something for a moment, and then he lowered his voice again. "No more difficult than it is for you to sit here now, in the company of these people." Another pause. "I gather it is not overly challenging."
"Not at all." Although, I did realize now that it was hardly normal for me to be distracted by the scent of those students whenever I took a deep breath—or to discern the scent of students in the first place.
"It would be challenging," Merrick said, "if you were thirsty." I could hear his discomfort in the halting way he spoke that word. It was unlike him to be awkward, and unfortunately, I was hardly in a position to put anyone at ease. I supposed I might try?
"I beg your pardon," I said, "I said I would be patient.” Damned if I wasn’t trying, but for God’s sake, I’d just turned into a vampire and I had a few bloody questions. I gave a helpless shrug.
"Nonsense," Merrick said with a small shake of his head. "As I said, I’ve not spoken of these things in a long time. I can see you're afraid I’ll leave you in the dark again. But you mustn't worry." Reaching over to take my hand again, he looked into my eyes. "I can't stand to see you look anything less than happy tonight. I'll do my best to satisfy every last curiosity you can think of before dawn."
Why did I feel that in my teeth? But I did, so distinctly that it tingled when I smiled. "All right."
"That's better," Merrick murmured with a smile of his own. "Now, if you've had your fill of wine, let us walk through the city and speak of whatever you like."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I was beginning to feel rather restless, though not unpleasantly so. It was only my zeal for the evening. As we started off down the boulevard, I was glad to move my limbs and ready for the next novelty. It came in the sound of my boot steps striking the street, which sounded queer to me, for I felt as though I weighed almost nothing, and that my movements should be as quiet as a cat's.
"How do I feel so light?" I asked, more to express my wonder than in expectation of a reply. "What is the science of this?"
"I must warn you I don't know everything."
"Well, I must warn you I'm just as interested in what you don’t know."
Merrick laughed softly. We had headed away from the main square, venturing down a more tranquil street lined with fine townhouses that were two and three times larger than the one where he had welcomed me. The traffic here was mostly confined to the odd coach or cart, and when I felt we were quite alone, I boldly tested his pro
mise to speak openly with me.
"What you said before," I started, "about being in the company of other people. You mean to say that it is always so easy, as long as you're not thirsty?"
"It is not overly difficult. But that is not to say that you should ever become too comfortable among them." Merrick paused thoughtfully. "If you get too close, interest will give way to thirst."
"How close do you mean? How interested?"
Again, Merrick took a moment to shape his reply. "It's not easy to parse. Your thirst is bound to your own feelings."
"Then, say, what if one of those men at the tavern had joined us for a drink? Do you mean that a few moments of conversation could seal the deal? If I found him clever, for instance."
"It could. It might not. I'm afraid I cannot speak for you, William."
"For yourself, then," I ventured. "What does it take for you?"
"I have more restraint than most." Merrick sounded even less satisfied with his own answers than I was—it was charmingly clear how earnestly he was trying to satisfy me. "And I've never been swift to connect with others."
"Sometimes when you speak of yourself I feel you must be describing someone else."
"You have a distorted view of me."
I scoffed loudly, startling myself. It seemed harder than ever, now, not to wear all my emotions on my sleeve; the reaction was out before I even realized I’d taken offense. For a moment I was so taken aback by my own harrumph that I was speechless, but I tried to recover enough to explain my objection more politely.
"I do not think my view of you is distorted," I said, "but if you are certain of it, I can only hope to correct it."
"Oh, no." Merrick stopped me with a hand on my shoulder and turned me to face him. "That was not what I meant. Far from it! I only meant to explain why it might sound strange to you when I speak of myself. I’ve lived for a long time, but you have a fresh view of me. Your view. I couldn't ask for more." He smoothed my hair as he studied my face, his brow furrowed and his amber eyes soft with concern. " You can't imagine what it’s meant to me to learn who I am through your eyes."
I could only nod, taken aback by the fervor of his reassurances, and was doubly caught off guard by his soft sigh of relief.
It was always disarming when he put the full force of his gentle charm toward soothing my worries. But it was even more disarming to realize that Merrick, to my utter surprise and fascination, was just as nervous this evening as I was. There were fissures, however slight, in his composure. And having realized it, I couldn’t stop sneaking glances at him, for I couldn’t un-see the vague look of concentration on his face, as though I’d called upon him to answer a series of riddles, and he was trying to puzzle them out.
It was profoundly endearing. The more I thought about it, the more touched I was. For, as Theo had told me back in New York, this was a change for Merrick, too. For nearly three hundred years on this earth he had resisted the prospect of taking on a companion like me. Even during the natural phase in which his instincts compelled him to do so, he had resisted it. Even when he’d chosen me—or his thirst had chosen me, to use the terms he’d laid out earlier—and the impulse became irresistible, he had resisted. God only knew when I’d understand why, but he had resisted. So much for his efforts.
“Were you always so solitary, Merrick?” I asked suddenly.
“More or less.”
“What about Theo? You were friends at some point, weren’t you?” When he failed to answer, I looked at him and found his expression had darkened as profoundly as it always did whenever I raised the issue of the French vampire, as I had consequently learned not to do.
“Let’s not speak of Theo,” Merrick said at length. “Not this evening.”
I raised my eyebrows. For whatever reason, I had expected Merrick’s grudge against Theo to fade once the business was done. “All right.”
“As for your question, I’ve lived differently at times. But I’ve never been like you. Before I was turned, I lived in a monastery.”
“Of course you did!” I exclaimed, snapping my fingers.
“I was a layman,” Merrick laughed, shaking his head. “Not a monk.”
“Good God!” My excitement turned to dismay. “I have so much to learn about you—I feel like I’ll never get to the bottom of it.”
"Well, you might give us more than..." Merrick glanced up at the night sky. "...two hours, before you lose heart."
Of course. I looked down sheepishly. Of course I could not demand all the answers at once. If a mountain of mystery remained, it would not be scaled in mere moments. "You're right. We do have ample time."
Merrick reached over to tuck my hair behind my ear. He had always been a master of those brief, intimate gestures, which caught me unaware and drew me toward him like a fish on a line. "Come," he said, putting a brotherly hand to my shoulder. "Let's walk along the Common."
We went in silence for several minutes, turning down the impressive tree-lined path along the edge of the Common, and I was surprised by a memory that captured my attention as I gazed into the dark shadows of the public green. It was one of my earliest memories, from just after my father died. I was corralled behind the bar at one of the inns where my mother worked, listening to a group of men on the other side. They were debating when the gallows went up in the Boston Common. One was sure he knew, because he'd seen his father and his friend executed there in the same year, one on the Great Elm and one on the new gallows. And then the conversation became gruesome, and something scared me—something one man said about hanging. I could not recall what it was, but it sent my imagination running off into the dark. When my mother took me home and we settled down to sleep, I started to cry inconsolably over the horrible things that had come into my head.
Funny enough, that was the only time I ever recall being too soft for the rough talk of those grimy taverns. After that, I was forever ducking out of my mother's sight as soon as she was busy, searching out the best storytellers among the drunks. No tale, no matter how nasty, ever scared me off again.
What a strange thing to remember. But how far were we now from the gallows, from the Great Elm? I looked into the darkness again, wondering.
Noticing my gaze, Merrick nodded toward the deeper part of green. "Shall we see the pond?"
"Yes, let's." Setting aside old memories, I found the shadows of the pasture rather welcoming. And I was surprised to notice that I could see quite clearly into the darkness, almost as if by some invisible lantern. Another vampire blessing, I realized.
Even as we stepped onto the grass and into the dark quiet, I had begun to taste what Merrick had meant by "changes yet to come." My teeth, in particular, were becoming distracting. Every so often they tingled faintly, and I had an increasing urge to stretch my jaw like a cat. At last I had to lift my hand to my face to cover the odd yawn. "Pardon me," I said, puzzled. "I don't feel tired at all."
"It's your teeth. You're getting thirsty."
I looked at him. His eyes were always brightest in the dark. I wondered if mine were, as well. Anyway, he was right. I was getting thirsty. But that I had expected. It was part of the deal. What I had not anticipated was the truth of Theo's words back in New York: Instinct will do the job.
Bloody Hell. He was right. I'd gone cold-blooded, and it seemed as though—if I wanted to—I could make the transition quite peacefully, indeed.
Merrick took my hand, lacing his fingers through mine, and raised it to his lips for a kiss. We were far enough from the street not to be seen through any windowpane; indeed, in the dark groves of the Common, we seemed to be completely alone. It was almost as though we were back in the woods outside his cottage upstate. We had walked them after nightfall once, through the thick, winding trees in the inky darkness of the Hudson Valley wilds, the night he finally put his mouth on my body, the night before he fled his desires and sent me away.
Now we came to a stop at the crest of a little knoll crowned by several grown elm trees. The pond was a cir
cle of black in the dale below, shimmering with tiny obsidian ripples wherever the breeze swept the surface. After a quiet moment, Merrick gently pulled me back into the darkest space between the trees and wound an arm about my waist, drawing a fingertip along the edge of my jaw as if he needed to prompt me to look at his unforgettably handsome face. And, ah, here was the Merrick I remembered, gazing into my eyes with that inscrutable look, searching for something only he understood.
"Shall we not discuss it?" I whispered, for my teeth, my teeth, my lips and my tongue, they felt more urgent by the moment.
"What was all that talk of being my apprentice again?" Merrick smoothed my hair, his tone gentle. "Where is the confidence you once had in my guidance?"
At that, I looked down with a flicker of...I didn't know what, but it wasn't pleasure, and I schooled my brow so as not to betray it.
"Of course," Merrick said softly, "I was a more confident teacher."
Damn it, I loved him. Sometimes the things he said made something in my chest twist in the most delicious way, and I did not even know why, except that I loved him, and apparently that was one of the symptoms. I closed my eyes and turned my cheek into his hand. "Botany was a subject I found somewhat less intimidating," I murmured.
"Yet I've no doubt you'll take to this just as gracefully."
I was breathing in the dark fragrance of his silky wrist as he spoke, and now I exhaled with a soft laugh. "Gracefully? You keep using that word. Are you sure you know what it means in this century?"
"I gather you've not heard it from anyone else. It's my honest pleasure to be the first."
I smiled and lowered my head to his shoulder, wrapping my arms around him for a long and blissful embrace. Christ, I loved him. "Make no mistake," I said. "I'm hanging onto your every remark. Your faith in my character is profoundly comforting."
"Faith would imply a lack of evidence," Merrick murmured, echoing my own words from earlier. When I lifted my head to respond, he kissed me; softly, at first, as though he meant to be brief, and then with a slower, deeper intent. Soon we were molded together, hands gripping, mouths slanting, and I could feel the promise of his body beneath his fine suit—the hard angles of his hips, the ridged muscles of his torso, his steely thighs. It was so thrilling I could hardly stand it. Not that I wanted it to stop, but I was afraid I could not hold onto my dignity if I allowed him to stoke my needfulness any further. Quite a conundrum.