by E. C. Hibbs
CHAPTER X
The first thing I saw was him inside my head. He was with Lucy again, and I was watching from ten feet above the floor. The cold wall pressed into my back. The hole in the ceiling was still small, and moonlight shone on her face as she lay on the sarcophagus, staring up with wide green eyes. Wavy black hair pooled around her shoulders. A lemon-coloured day dress reached to her knees. Her arms – the bare skin silver in the night – were crossed with deep cuts.
He walked towards her slowly from the shadows, great wings outstretched, and then I fell back into red darkness. I imagined my body twisting against itself, in some kind of uncontrollable corkscrew. The effect was so real that my head spun and I felt as though I was coming round from an anaesthetic. My arms and legs were impossibly heavy, like weights were holding me down, and I didn’t move them – just because I knew I wouldn’t have the energy to manage it. Even breathing was difficult, but I snatched great gulps of air like I’d just run a marathon. I felt absolutely drained and wasted away.
Everything was blurred. I fell in and out of sleep, every time wracked with nightmares. A stab of fear tore through, that I was back in hospital – and as a result, I always saw my own macabre version of Alice’s rabbit hole whenever I closed my eyes. Eventually I woke up and was lucid enough to hear words being spoken, but they were slurred. I concentrated on trying to make sense of them – but that hurt my head, so I stopped.
I vaguely recognised my own name, and then felt a hand tapping my face. I forced my eyes open and saw the figure of a man bent over me, blocking out the light. Fear gave me new strength.
Fight or flight.
“Nem!” I screamed, scrambling to get away, but strong hands gripped my wrists and forced me back.
The panic mounted and I kicked out. “Let me go!”
“Calm down! I don’t mean you any harm! Calm down!”
It took me a few seconds to process that, but when I did, I realised it wasn’t the voice I’d been dreading. I thought I still recognised it, but I couldn’t think where from. I collapsed back, the adrenaline draining from me as quickly as it had come, and leaving me even more exhausted. I remembered how Lidérc could appear as doppelgangers of a victim’s loved one, to lure and manipulate them to their doom. But I was in England, where they couldn’t follow.
Couldn’t they?
“Can you hear me?” the man asked.
The shout had been agonising, so I just groaned in response. I was surprised that I could make any noise other than hissing. I went to sit up, but was pushed back down gently.
“No, no, stay still,” he said softly.
My cracked throat managed a whisper as I reminded myself to speak in English. “What’s going on? Where am I?”
“Safe.”
“What happened?” I asked drearily as he took my chin in one hand to hold my head still. My eyelids were rolled up so that he could check the whites of my eyes, and then he turned my head to the side to reveal my neck. I didn’t resist; I couldn’t find the strength even to try it, and now that I was certain it wasn’t him – it.
I felt the skin by my scar tingling as my scarf was pulled away, but that washed from my mind as he pressed his fingers into my neck to feel my pulse. After a few moments, he let go.
“What happened?” I asked again, squinting to try and make out his face, but I couldn’t. I noticed the lights in the room were dim, and wondered if that was on purpose.
“Think of it as anaemia, in the form of an asthma attack or something. A really, really bad one.” His hand curled around the base of my skull and raised my head slightly. “Open your mouth.”
I did, and then something small, cylindrical and plastic appeared between my lips. I wasn’t sure what it was at first, but then I instinctively sucked, and a metallic-tasting liquid flowed over my tongue. Immediately, I knew what it was.
Blood.
Disgust filled me and I went to smack him away in horror, but I wasn’t in control of myself anymore. I knew that, deep down, I needed it. I gulped a quick mouthful, unable to suppress my need, and he helped me, supporting my head and leaving me time to breathe between allowing me more. I wasn’t aware of how much I drank, but my burning throat cooled and the tightness in my chest loosened. Then I closed my eyes again and didn’t open them.
A million dreamy images and hazy shapes drifted through my mind, and I lost sense of time. It felt as though I didn’t move for months. Lying there, the pain gradually thinned and began to withdraw. As it did, stiffness came to replace it, but I would have opted for that any day. I knew, even in my suspended state, that I never wanted to feel like that ever again. The frail body that was surrounding me was like an old doll, broken and stitched back together. I wondered if my arms were rigid and teeth clamped: whether I was comatose, or even on the verge of catatonia once again.
It was the sound of the rain which brought me back up the shaft, leaving the visions of blood and death behind. As the shrieks dissipated, I heard it distantly, as though I was somehow underwater, and it began to draw me to the surface. My sleep became lighter and I felt my eyes fluttering. There was a kind of softness under my back, like cushions. My scarf was gone.
“Oh, you’re awake.”
Was I?
Yes, my eyes were open, and everything further than three feet away was blurred, but I could see. A terrible migraine gripped my head, as though I’d been hit with a hammer. I made out my cane propped up against the wall nearby, and I heavily reached out and touched the birch shaft.
I glanced at the window over my head, and was met with a darkened sky before I looked out to my surroundings. I was lying on a couch in a small but cosy-looking room, a gas fireplace not too far away. My shoes had been removed and placed on the floor, and my body was covered by a fleece blanket. A large vintage-looking movie poster was stuck on the far wall in a plain glass frame. There was the noise of a TV somewhere to my right, but I couldn’t really focus on the words. It sounded vaguely like a cartoon.
I slowly turned my head in the direction of the voice – wincing as pain shot behind my eyes – and saw the man who had seen to me, perched on the end of an armchair. He approached, rubbing the back of his neck wearily, as though he’d been sitting and waiting for me to wake ever since checking me over.
“Where am I?” I asked. It sounded like a mumble, but I could have shouted it for all I knew; my head hurt so much.
“We’re at my house, in Islington. Not far from yours.” The man knelt beside me, and as he spoke, his face swam into view. “Do you remember me?”
I looked at him, and recognition immediately slammed into me. Light brown, mid-length hair – slightly wavy – just reached past his ears; and deep green eyes stared down at me. Close to the sleeve hem of his plain white top, there was a tattoo on his wrist, of a dragonfly.
“Frank?”
He nodded. “Yes, it’s me.”
What the hell is he doing here?
I couldn’t stop staring. He extended his hand, and my eyes latched onto the tattoo. It was definitely his.
“Alright, Bee; how many fingers am I holding up?” he asked.
I strained to find the right word. “Három... uh, three?”
“Good.” Frank lowered his hand and carefully slid his arms behind my shoulders, helping me into something more of a sitting position. He wedged a cushion behind my back. “How are you feeling?”
I groaned, and held a hand to my head. “Szörnyű,” I replied truthfully, and then realised I’d spoken in Hungarian. “Um... terrible.”
A small smile spread across Frank’s lips. “I’m not surprised.” He motioned to where I’d placed my hand, and knelt down. “Sorry about that. It was the only way to stop you.”
I felt myself frowning. “Sorry about what? Stop what?” I blinked furiously, trying to force the last of the blur away. “What happened to me?”
Frank gently moved my hand away to press his thumb firmly onto my skin. Pain flared, and I knew I was going to have a bruise. H
e grasped a damp cloth from nearby and placed it over my forehead. It didn’t do much for the throbbing deep inside, but it brought some relief.
“I knocked you out.”
“What?” I blurted, doing a double-take. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“I knocked you out, I’m sorry,” Frank repeated.
I didn’t say anything at first; I didn’t know how I could possibly reply to something like that. In the back of my mind, I applauded him for somehow keeping a straight face, but as soon as he noticed that I was completely lucid, Frank’s eyes hardened. There was no hint of his hidden smile in them.
“What the hell were you doing?” he demanded.
I blinked in surprise at the abrupt change in tone. “What are you talking about? I just went for a walk.”
“What were you thinking?” Frank asked, and his voice was harsh. “You could have killed someone! I saw you had your eyes on that old man! Why did you leave it so long?”
“Leave what so long?” I snapped back, moving forwards slightly towards him to show that if he was trying to intimidate me, it wasn’t working.
Frank’s face changed a little. Not by a huge amount, but some of the softness returned. It was as though he was only really hearing me for the first time, and he stared at me in what I could only label as disbelief.
“You don’t know?” he asked, but it was more of an amazed statement. “I... well, where’s your turner? I don’t understand –”
“Frank,” I said slowly, “I don’t, either. I don’t know what you’re talking about. What’s going on? Because if you know something...”
My voice drained away. I didn’t turn away from him, and he didn’t move for a long time. It looked as though he was struggling to figure something out: he was shaking his head gently, mouth open. Then he stood up hurriedly and walked out across the room with a hand to his face. I scowled and swung my legs off the couch so I was sitting properly, and grabbed my cane, holding it loosely beside me.
“Frank?” I said carefully, trying to read his movements.
He stayed where he was, still shaking his head. He looked back over his shoulder at me, and his eyes shone with confusion. I probably didn’t look much different, but I had mind only for him. A million questions were bouncing off the inside of my skull.
How had he known I was in Hyde Park? How long had I been here? How had he known to give me... blood?
Eventually, he said, “How much do you know?”
I adjusted my grip on my cane, gently touching the birch. There was wariness in his voice, as though he was treading on thin ice and testing for where it could crack. The way he was looking at me wasn’t anything I’d ever seen on his placid face before.
“About what?”
In response, he reached down towards a nearby sideboard and picked up my scarf. The blue folds hung down from his fingers. “It seems you know enough to want to hide that scar,” he said with a hint of expectancy.
My chest tightened and I went to get to my feet, but I lost my balance and he leapt across the room.
“Whoa, careful!” He grasped my arms to steady me. “Sit down.”
I did as he said, but seized his wrist tightly and stared at him. “Are you one, too?” I asked, unable to believe the words that were coming out of my mouth.
Frank paused, and I let go of him, so he could sit down beside me. He glanced at the floor for a moment.
“Yes.”
CHAPTER XI
I’d never felt so relieved or shocked in my whole life as I did in that moment, when a single syllable answered the eternal question. All the loneliness and despair suddenly felt eclipsed in one split-second that it took to register. I couldn’t believe my ears as Frank looked at me.
“Bee,” he said steadily, “where is your turner?”
I frowned, instantly brought back down to earth. “My what?”
“Your turner,” he repeated. He tapped his own neck, and any final doubts were confirmed. Now he motioned there, I saw the single line of a faded, curving scar. It was pale against the slight tan of his skin – and in exactly the same place as mine. “The one who bit you.”
I paused, licking my lips nervously; then lowered my eyes, holding a hand to my mouth. That faultless face was there, with its sleek smirk and blazing eyes. I heard his snigger on a ghostly wind.
“Bee?”
“It... he’s in Hungary,” I replied slowly. Frank put a hand on my shoulder, encouraging me to look back at him. I bit my lips together gently so that I kept a straight face, but his was livid. “Have I done something wrong?”
“Why is he still in Hungary?” Frank demanded. “Why is he not with you? Why are you separated? That... that’s so dangerous!”
I was taken aback. Despite the fact I now knew he was a vampire – that sounded so strange even to think, to attach to him that word, which I had saved solely for myself and my best friend’s murderer – I’d never seen him like this before. It was worrying; he was normally so laid-back, and always on hand to brighten a situation with a wicked joke. Seeing the complete opposite of that, with such a serious expression and strange anger in his eyes, I didn’t know what to make of it.
“Did he abandon you?” Frank pressed. “Or is he dead?”
I felt my own fury then, and gripped my cane so tightly that my knuckles went white. “I want him dead,” I replied, spitting out the words like darts.
Frank blinked, and stared at me. Then he pressed his lips together hard and stood, striding from the room. I watched him go out of the corner of my eye, keeping my face straight ahead.
“The TV remote’s on top of the magazine rack next to the couch, put something on you want to watch,” he called back, and then I heard the climbing hiss of the kettle as he put it on to boil.
Tea, I thought. Of course. Tea.
None of it made sense. And even if it did, I was too bewildered for it to have any hope of sinking in. The knowledge was there, floating around me, but it just bounced away like magnets repelling each other. More than anything, I tried to say to myself that Frank was a vampire.
I caught sight of something red lying in a fruit bowl on the sideboard, and strained my neck to see it. I jumped. It was a plastic hospital blood unit: the type that are hung on drips and used in transfusions. I remembered the circle-shaped thing in my mouth as I was lying down, and placed it with the image of the seal hanging over the lip of the bowl, secured with cling-film.
How in hell did he have one of those?
Frank was in the kitchen for a while, but he eventually returned with two mugs of tea, gave one to me and grabbed the remote. Since I hadn’t touched it, he turned on the DVD and an episode of the Flintstones began playing.
“Did I put too much sugar in it?” he asked. I took a sip and shook my head as I focused on the cartoon. I vaguely recognised it from when I was a child, but didn’t really follow the story. More than anything, I just ran my finger up and down my cane, and drank. Frank finished before me, and I couldn’t help but smile a little. He reminded me of Lucy and her asbestos lips.
It must be an English thing. They instinctively know how to brew it when they’re younger, and they’re all born with asbestos lips so they can drink it.
Frank glanced at me and rubbed his neck again. “How’s your throat?”
“It’s much better, thank you.”
“But I’m sure you didn’t go having a look for that cough syrup.”
I paused, then remembered him recommending it to me and chuckled. “No.”
“I thought not.” He leant back against the cushions. “I just can’t believe you’re alone here.”
“What did you mean?” I asked, twisting so I could look at him without straining my neck. “When you said it was dangerous for me to be here on my own?”
Frank met my eyes. “You really don’t know anything, do you?” he said, but not nastily; he sounded truly shocked and, in a strange way, sympathetic. I wasn’t sure what to make of it so I just shook my head.<
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“Alright, I’ll just stick to the basics for now.” He ruffled his hair with one hand and then crossed both of them over his lap. “The two of us are vampires. You figured that part out, right?”
“Yes,” I replied, surprised at how composed I sounded.
“Okay. But there’s one main difference, between you and me,” he said slowly. “You’re still going through the main stages of the transformation. The venom that turns you takes a few years to take effect through your whole body, because everything doesn’t happen at once. The eyes, the thirst... it all takes time. It makes it less of a shock to the system; less painful.”
“But are we human?” I asked. “I mean...”
“A vampire is just a type of human,” Frank replied. “A very rare type of human, true, but at base level, we’re no different from your average Joe. The vampirism isn’t genetic; all humans have the capability to be affected by venom if we’re bitten, but it only takes effect if we’re bitten. Vampires can still have children and they won’t be vampires. The terms ‘human’ and ‘vampire’ are only generally used to differentiate.”
“So we’re not immortal?”
“No, we age at exactly the same rate as everyone else.”
“And the sunlight obviously doesn’t hurt us...?”
“We’re more sensitive to it and bright lights – you’ve probably found that out already – and if we stay out in it for too long then it can hurt us, but it’s not fatal. We won’t burst into a puff of smoke.”
“And all the things like garlic and stakes?”
“Garlic makes us stink. And, sure, a stake through the heart would kill us, but wouldn’t that kill anyone?”
The look on his face was enough to make me double over in laughter. It was a fair point. For as unsure and confused as I was, every moment seemed lighter with Frank’s sense of humour there to dilute it. I decided that if I was hallucinating after all, they suddenly weren’t so bad.
“So,” I said eventually, “I’m what? A baby?”