by Sia Wales
A creaking sound rings out as the lamp and the fireplace carving set in motion a mechanism on the wooden wall at the far end of the room. Within a moment, the large section of cladding inside an ornamental frame slides away. The opening is high and dark. The decorative border is, in truth, framing a secret door. I widen my eyes in amazement and gasp. I move to step through the dark gap, but Donn, in a graceful movement, takes me back into his cold arms and swirls me towards the fireplace. He leans over me and puts his mouth to my ear. “This is where we part ways. Follow the corridor round the corner on the left and take the first exit.”
I’m trembling, perhaps with fear. “Why can’t I come with you?
“The fireplace door is the meeting point with J., remember?” he says patiently.
I look around and exhale, “But I don’t’ see anyone.”
“But he can see you, and he can feel you,” replies Donn, stroking my cheek with one finger. “And… baby, I have to answer to someone too.” I can feel the smile spreading on his lips.
“Who are the second and third members of the Council?” I ask cautiously. “I guess Graham is number one and you’re number four.” I motion to the bas relief decoration he has just pushed inside the fireplace. “Is that right?”
“Yes. The second is Debra, She was the first to join forces with Graham. Aaron was the third. But then he left and Jack took his place. Graham mistakenly thought that he could fill the void that Aaron left. But Debra managed to make him see reason.”
“I’m just wondering why you’re not the third Council member. Didn’t Graham want you to take Aaron’s place?”
Donn looks at me, his perfect smile spreading across his face. Then he takes my hands in his and crosses them over my belly, before clutching me close to his chest.
“That’s not it at all,” he whispers, velvety smooth like molten chocolate. “I didn’t want the position.”
“Why not?”
His face darkens. Finally I’m the one to make him feel uncomfortable.
“Well, you see, I was already elected to be the fourth member of the Council,” he explains. “And I didn’t want to take Aaron’s place. It didn’t seem… right.”
I’m about to reply, but Donn presses his fingers to my lips to silence me.
“Now that’s enough questions. We have to dash.”
“Of course.”
“I’m sorry,” apologizes Donn, nodding to the fireplace. “You don’t have much choice. You won’t see me now until you’re inside, but I promise you, you won’t be alone.”
Only when Donn removes the grate do I notice that there is a gaping hole inside the fireplace. I peer in; there seems to be a wire grate on the blackened base to allow the ash to filter through.
“Don’t fret,” Donn whispers. “J. will come get you.”
I look dubiously at the grate, and at the sound of my uneasy breathing a voice penetrates the darkness.
“I’m here, Stella.” That melodious, angelic voice, coming from too far down in the oblivion to comfort me. But I need to know that it really does belong to whom I think.
It must be his voice. I try with all my might not to think of his name, surprised that I haven’t fallen to my knees in shock, in joy, in pain at having heard it, tortured by the sense of loss. But there is no pain, none at all. I was afraid that I might have forgotten the sound of his voice so I feel elated that the irrational part of my brain has preserved it.
I hardly ever allow myself to think of him. Between pain and that foggy feeling, the haziness always wins out. Of course the price to pay is never-ending fog. But I’m human, and human instincts prevail, and the price to pay is having him creep into my mind on occasion.
Right now I expect that abyss to open up, the ache to return. I feel alert after so many weeks of that dull feeling, but it seems to be holding back. For now. But as soon as I hear his voice, clarity seems to wash over me, as if I had emerged from a deep well of murky water. My senses seem to be in overdrive. I can see and hear well, I’m now aware of the biting, cold air stinging my cheeks, and the smell of the fireplace.
I stick my legs into the hole, Donn holding my wrists to help me in. When he lets go, I feel myself slipping into the void. A cry escapes my lips. I try to keep them glued together to avoid screaming. Air rushes past me for a second, whipping my cheeks. I keep my eyes tightly closed, despite the pitch black. There is silence, nothing, but not for long. A pair of strong arms sweep me on my feet.
I open my eyes. The light seeping down from the entrance hole reflects pallidly on the wet stone. My skin burns. I’m sure I must have grazed myself during the descent.
Behind J.’s burly shoulders is an enormous circular grate, protected with rusty iron railings. It looks like an old vent.
The light disappears for an instant, and then Donn’s outline appears on the wet floor. My eyes seek him out, but the sudden darkness obscures my vision as the rasping sound of the metallic grate being put back into place above our heads echoes through the chamber.
My heart races wildly and I’d give anything to stop it, knowing full well that the blood racing through my veins makes it hard for my companions to be near me. I bet J. can feel it. He is motionless.
“Don’t move,” he murmurs.
His breath is wheezing, he slowly comes toward me and I feel a breeze of freezing cold air envelop me. His hand touches my cheek. I’m paralyzed.
My lungs fill with the sweet perfume of his skin and his irregular breathing sounds like an alarm bell, an acute signal for danger that should fill me with terror. But I feel nothing, not even a stab of fear. Other sensations override it.
“This is unbelievable. Donn kept his word.” His delicious voice is filled with wonder.
He slowly slides his hand along my cheekbone. A shiver runs through me as I feel it slip down to my throat. But it doesn’t stop there. It continues its path along my shoulder.
“I want you to feel the intensity, the confusion I feel.”
I think I can hear his teeth grinding from the effort of his confession.
My rational side tells me I should be terrified, but a wave of compassion for his suffering washes over me, even as he admits that there is one part of me he desires above all others.
Donn’s words spring back to my mind.
“In the first few months after transformation, new-born vampires are unpredictable, wild, basically uncontrollable,” he once explained. “This is when they are at their most brutal, driven mad by thirst. Plus, in their first year of life, they are unbelievably strong.”
This causes another wave, this time of fear. My stomach churns, my heart begins its sprint again. I try to whisper his name, but the words don’t come out.
I feel him bury his face in my hair with a sharp intake of breath, as if he is about to reveal a deep, dark secret. But he breathes in my scent. A hand delicately runs down my collarbone, coming to a rest on my chest. He wants to feel my heartbeat.
“Extraordinary,” he murmurs, his voice honey-smooth, full of amazement. “I had almost lost hope.” He nuzzles into my hair. “My heart hasn’t beaten in over a year. But now I feel it pulsating, where before there was nothing. You have the same … scent.”
“The same scent?” I repeat, finally managing to get a word out.
He is as still as a marble statue, then I feel a smile being carved onto his face.
“It’s the worst kind of temptation, but I can resist.” His voice is exquisite, delicate. He awaits a response, he wants to know that I’m not saddened by his words. Despite not being able to see the tip of my nose, I can feel his sapphire eyes burrowing into me.
I don’t know how long we stand motionless in this position; whole minutes it seems. Eventually my heartbeat returns to normal. I know he could have lost control at any moment and that my life could end there, in the underground passages of the library so fast that I wouldn’t even realize my end was nigh. But I feel no fear. Mere contact with him wipes those thoughts clean away.
&nbs
p; “Is it very hard?” I ask cautiously, trying to lighten the heavy mood.
“Not as bad as I expected.” He seems gratified and keeps holding me tight.
But I barely hear his words, I am caressing that face that I so wanted to touch for over a year.
“J. …” Then slowly, with great restraint, I run my fingers along the contours of his face to see if my long-held suspicions were correct, that J. really is Jason.
“Stella, if you want you can call me … Jason.”
I finally hear those longed-for words and my heart begins to pump hot blood through my veins. The abyss closes, leaving no trace of its presence. I’m overwhelmed with joy, I feel complete, and the pain has vanished. As I stare into the darkness, I feel his eyes on me. I meditate on the meaning of his words, the sudden shift in the conversation making my head spin. We went from confirming Donn’s reliability, to my scent, to an official declaration.
“So J.,” I try to keep my voice steady and almost lose balance in the process.
“Yes, it’s always been me.” His cold hands caressing my face bring me round, but hot tears spring from my eyes.
“Shh, no, Stella,” he whispers in my ear holding me tight. “I’m back. You can’t see me yet, but you can feel me.” His velvet thumb traces the outline of my lips. “You know what I feel for you. The fact that I’m here means that I would rather die that give you up.”
A shiver runs down my spine, then through my whole body. I choke back a cry of terror, I feel the blood rushing from my face. My clammy hands tremble. But he just brushes his cold, perfect lips over my cheek, the sweet perfume of his breath instantly soothing the dread.
I move even more sluggishly, delicately stroking his cheek, his eyebrows, the soft hollow around his eyes, before arriving at his flawlessly smooth lips. They open at my touch and I feel his icy breath on the tips of my fingers. I move my hand away, I just want to get closer to him, but am afraid to go too far. I want to feel the changes, but he moves back a few inches.
“I’m sorry, J…Jason.” In a broken voice I stammer his name for the first time.
“Don’t worry. I’m the one who should be saying sorry. I wanted to tell you earlier, but that would have meant a direct hostility, and I wasn’t ready yet.”
It is probably a sense of guilt that drives him to ask forgiveness, despite everything––convinced that he had caused my depression this past year. And he’s right. But just the feel of him now wipes all memory of it away.
Two deep breaths, then he takes my hands in his and starts to lead me along. I occasionally stumble over the bumpy stone floor. We follow the passageway round the corner to the left, and take the first exit, as Donn had indicated earlier.
The sound of my faltering footsteps echoes in the enormous void. But all Jason hears is my every agitated breath, every frenetic beat of my heart as he leads me along. He occasionally stops to stroke my face or plant a kiss in my hair.
The straight passageway we are taking seems endless, and my clothes are damp. I feel droplets fall onto our heads, the sound echoing here and there.
I see a light ahead, my vision turning from black to gray. Jason appears before me as a weak radiance, white as snow. Such beauty is too perfect for one who still has human blood in him. He watches me, his eyes liquid sapphire, mine filled with torment.
We proceed along under the high arches of the underground passage, going deeper and deeper, claustrophobia now gripping me. Only his lips brushing my forehead stop my screams. Blackish streaks of damp stain the brick walls, black as all the ink used to print the pages of the books above our heads.
The temperature in the library is wintry. Like Jason’s skin. But I don’t care if I freeze to death; nobody knows how long they have on this earth anyway. My teeth begin to chatter from the cold. He rubs my arms up and down in a fruitless attempt to warm me up. At the end of the passage is another round grate with iron railings. A low door, made out of thin iron railings is open on our right, just a few yards before the end of the corridor.
They await us.
The antechamber is not very big––empty and dark, and resounding with echoes. Jason aims for another door, huge and wooden, at the far end of the room. We enter a much bigger room made of brick and stone. It is airy and well lit, its walls lined with bookshelves. I look around curiously, and feel the tension in my body ebbing away. Next to me, Jason doesn’t seem to having the same reaction. He stands there, immobile, listening.
The warm room is more welcoming than the frightening darkness of the damp underground passage. Ancient paving stones line the floor. It would seem that there are a few floors that aren’t known to the people above ground. Perhaps they were initially built to house valuable or banned books.
At the other end of the room, a door etched with gold is thrown open. It opens onto a wide bright corridor, paved in shining marble. Jason’s jaw tenses, he throws a furtive glance over our shoulders, dread in his eyes.
The heavy wooden door begins to creak shut, followed by the scraping sound of a key turning. I’m too terrified to look back.
A wrought iron light above our heads is turns on. Stopped by the sudden light, I become aware of a presence, waiting for us.
“Welcome back, Jason.” The voice seems to come from a surreal and unexpected red flame beyond the door. But it is not fire.
My body stiffens, and I realize what the strange red flare is. It is wide and bulky. It is the shortest of the four men in black cloaks that I saw earlier in the library courtyard.
I spy modern-day, anonymous clothing. Under his austere cape, which covers his immense shoulders, his skin is grayish, not helped by his pallor.
“Gideon,” replies Jason, politely. His tone is calm and collected.
For a moment I think that his shoulder-length red hair is the hood of the top he is wearing under his cape.
“At last, your mood seems to have improved,” he says, looking at me.
“A bit,” replies Jason without giving anything away. His hand has not stopped stroking my arm.
“You’re a pup.”
“A novice now.”
“How can you stand so close to her?” he asks, his curiosity aroused, as his eyes fix on Jason’s arm around me.
“I have what is called self-control.”
“What a waste!” he blurts.
But he seems skeptical.
“I still have trouble believing it. It’s a high price to pay, even for an adult.”
“It’s the right price,” answers Jason in evenly.
“I can smell it. The scent of the girl. It unleashes your thirst. The desire for her blood is very strong. She seems … generous. She would willingly give it to you, but …”
“A real shame, eh!” Jason’s voice is sharp, cutting.
Gideon smiles again and looks intensely at him.
“You are just like him.” I wonder to whom he is referring.
“Stella, why don’t you wait in the other room, look through the books?” Jason gives me a slight nod of encouragement.
“No.” I don’t want to leave him there alone, at the mercy of Graham’s judgment.
“Shh, don’t worry,” he whispers.
“The girl is coming with us. If you really have decided not to take us on.” Gideon trails off menacingly.
Jason’s body tenses and he leans forward, ready for battle.
“I know what your instructions were, Gideon. This would not break any rules.”
“But I think her presence is necessary.” His voice hard, a hint of evil lacing it.
“Forget it,” barks Jason. His diplomatic, polite tone has vanished into thin air.
Still in his arms, I feel Jason’s shoulders stiffen, as he turns toward the only door now open at the other end of the room. Then, with force, he pulls me away from Gideon, pushing me back against the bookshelf. I can’t move or breathe. I peer over his shoulders and now see two figures in the room.
“Gideon,” says the taller shadow. “Not now.”
>
“Alright,” huffs Gideon, disappointed.
The shadow turns, twirling his cape around gracefully, and looks at us. It is the first man with the glossy gray hair I saw next to Gideon in the library courtyard. He walks toward us, stopping between Gideon and Jason.
“Jason, welcome back,” he says peaceably, his voice melodious but his face cold. He nods his head politely at me in greeting.
“Ares,” replies Jason in the same tone.
“Gideon mentioned that Councilmember Brooks was in close contact with the girl,” he says, his tone more courteous. “Donn only wants to talk to her again.”
“I’m sure he’ll survive his displeasure if I don’t allow that.”
Gideon’s face hardens.
“Let’s find a more comfortable spot to talk,” suggests Ares.
Something tells me that he’s referring to the tower, Graham’s abode.
“Right here will be just fine.”
“I’m afraid not,” says Ares.
“Ok,” says Jason. “I’ll come with you, but let the girl wait in the library.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” replies Ares with the same silver tongue.
“Then I cannot accept Donn’s invitation, Ares.”
“Graham will be most disappointed,” he sighs. “We have to obey instructions.”
A self-satisfied Gideon walks over to the bookshelf and opens out his arms to block any escape route Jason might have found and to steer him into the well-lit corridor, the same one Ares appeared from. Jason doesn’t budge an inch, still intent on protecting me. He wraps his arms around me from behind to shield me.
Ares’ patience is not yet exhausted.
“You promised not to break any rules in exchange for being able to escort the girl as far as the tower. We respected our end of the deal, now you have to as well.”
Jason sighs and turns to me.
“Stella, I don’t think I can ask you to …”
“Just ask,” I say.
“Never,” whispers Jason, shaking his head. He clenches his jaws and loosens his shoulder to relieve the tension. His eyes empty of all thoughts. Poised, he prepares for attack.