by E. C. Hibbs
“The proper name for it is a juvenile,” Frank replied, with the hint of a smile still playing at the corner of his mouth.
I looked at him. I had a pretty strong feeling that he wasn’t at the same stage as me. “So what are you?”
“I’m a full vampire,” he said.
“How is that different from me?”
“I’ve come of age. That means I can fly better than you, and I can turn people as well, because I have venom.”
I froze at those words and stared at him. “You what?”
Frank smiled in amusement. “Didn’t you know you can fly?”
I shook my head dumbly, realised my mouth was hanging open and quickly snapped it shut. I could fly? That had to be a joke. Vampires were one thing, but flying was plain nonsense. It was against the laws of physics; if any animal is going to fly, then they needed to be lightly-built and have wings, and no human had either of those.
“No, I can’t,” I said, but Frank just raised his eyebrows demurely. “I can barely walk properly; I can’t get up and fly around the room!”
“You know, I knew a bloke once when I was in Germany who was in a wheelchair, and he could run rings around me in the sky. Well, I suppose I shouldn’t say run, come to think of it. But yes, he’d just spread his wings and off he’d go. You never would have thought he couldn’t even move his legs.”
I held up my hand. “Did you just say wings?”
A tiny smile crept back across Frank’s face: the kind that was so small but yet was double the size in his eyes. Then he rolled his shoulders back gently, and a strange mist began to swirl behind him. I watched, transfixed, as it became thicker – and then a single huge, dark shape slowly extended out from his shoulder-blade. He stretched it out fully – it was as long as he was tall, and I was amazed he had enough room to do that without knocking something over.
If any animal is going to fly, Bee, then they need wings.
Frank glanced back at me, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Touch it.”
I gawked at him.
“Go on, don’t be nervous,” he urged, slowly curling it back up and swinging it over towards me.
I didn’t move for a moment, keeping my hands firmly on my cane, but his gaze was steady and reassuring, and after a few still seconds, I warily reached out. My fingers brushed the leathery flaps and I pulled back, shocked at how solid they felt. It looked exactly like a giant bat wing: the same kind of thin skeletal structure, and large thick membranes spanning between them. Every part of it was black, but the leather looked greyer, because of the light shining through from the other side.
There was a piercing in my chest as I remembered that the Lidérc had wings exactly like this – and the mist twisting around in front of me almost made me balk. But I was immediately comforted when I noticed Frank’s were warm to the touch, not that freezing, burning cold. The mist curled around my wrist gently, but I could tell Frank wasn’t controlling it in that way with which I was more familiar. It was just a part of the wing, with no will of its own except to cloud the structure in thin wispy tendrils.
“Are you convinced?” Frank asked softly. I gave a jerky nod, and he pulled away, folding it down expertly like a pattern of origami until I couldn’t see it anymore.
“Where did it go?” I asked. “I mean, your back’s flat, it doesn’t bulge. How do you –”
He silenced me with a smile from his green eyes, then reached behind and pulled up his top to reveal his back. The wing had completely vanished, but I still stared, because on his shoulder-blades were two tiny lumps, no bigger than tea-light candles. I carefully ran my fingers over one of them. They were hard, like outgrowths of bone, and surrounded by taught muscle.
“The wings don’t actually become physical limbs, so to speak, until you unfurl them,” Frank explained, lowering his top and turning round to me. “That’s why the misty stuff’s there. It helps to pull them back in. Any other time, they’re just a part of your back. Those lumps are the bases; that attach them to your muscles.”
“But... I don’t have those, do I?”
He shook his head and adjusted his weight slightly. “No, you don’t. You won’t get them until you come of age – turn into a full vampire.”
“Okay.” I swallowed.
“But you can still fly,” he added, “just not as well.”
The whole prospect of discovering a power of flight was enough to turn the whole experience of the past three years on its head. My eyes lit up like a kid’s at Christmas.
“Can you teach me?” I asked, but it probably sounded more like a crazy beg, hardly restrained at all.
Frank laughed. It was such an infectious sound that I had to join in. He reminded me a little of Lucy: always able to cheer anyone up or lighten a situation with just a simple chuckle. And like her, I felt like that single night had brought something to me which I thought I’d lost. As Lucy had given me self-confidence, Frank – my soft-spoken workmate – had given me hope.
CHAPTER XII
I began to pick up the threads of who I’d been before; my smiles felt more natural, and whenever I laughed, it was heartfelt. I returned to work after another couple of days, and immediately felt better for it. Until then, I stayed with Frank, and afterwards, I moved back into my old flat. The full heat of summer came to the city, and the sky was a cloudless blue every day.
The next few months flashed by. Close to midsummer, I was promoted up to the Exhibition Direction team – which not only meant a pay rise but also more action in educating the public about history. I began to enjoy my new position even more than the previous one; and started to put money away, so I could treat Apa and Anya to a weekend in London for their Silver Wedding Anniversary.
I met up with Frank often afterwards. I asked how he’d known I was in Hyde Park, and he admitted that he had followed me there, because he’d noticed me deteriorating and thought it best to keep an eye on me.
“Besides,” he’d added, “you never take a sick day. Not even if you’re half-dead.”
I’d never been so glad to be like a human mood ring, with my emotions so visible to others. If I had the ability to hide them like some people could, then I wasn’t sure if Frank would have come after me.
I bought my usual cup of tea and an iced Danish pastry, and headed outside to enjoy my lunch in the July sun. I’d taken to working through bottles of sun cream almost as fast as black pudding. The strongest factor I could find was stockpiled under my bed, and caking my face and arms with it had become part of my normal morning routine. I’d taken Frank’s word about the sunlight, but it was rammed home when one particularly summery day, I sat down on the train and noticed a strange rash all over my hands: like miniature blisters that itched terribly. It had felt as though I’d fallen into a bed of nettles, and it took a full week to disappear completely. The next day, he had shot me a look which could only have been ‘I told you so’.
I didn’t know Frank was there until he came up behind me, and I nearly spilled half of the tea down my front in fright.
“Sorry,” he said, eyes smiling as he leant against the wall. I moved my cane slightly for him. “Nice day, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “Very nice.”
He glanced over. “So what have you done to celebrate, Miss Director?”
I tore some pastry off the Danish and idly chewed on it. “I treated myself to hot chocolate and Gundel palacsinta.”
Frank blinked. “Which-what?”
“Oh!” I chuckled, realising I’d spoken in Hungarian. “I’m sorry! Um, it’s a pancake, with walnuts and chocolate sauce.”
Frank stared absent-mindedly into space as I described it. “Sounds nice,” he remarked eventually. “You’ll have to make one for me sometime.”
I raised an eyebrow and took another bite. “Nice to be asked,” I joked, and the smile spread onto his lips.
“Alright then, I’ll ask this,” he replied, looking back at me. “What are you doing on Saturday?”
I almost choked on the i
ced pastry. Frank quickly slapped me on the back as I coughed, and I took a small gulp of tea to clear my throat. Then I turned and stared at him.
“Are you... asking me out?”
He shrugged. “Well... if you want to put it so bluntly, I suppose I am.”
I froze. It was the first time any words like that had ever been fired in my direction. I felt myself instinctively balking like a spooked sheep, and went to shake my head to turn down the offer. But then part of me snapped, get a hold of yourself, Bee. You’re twenty-two years old. Don’t run off like a scared teenager.
It was then that I realised I’d been babbling to myself. I hurriedly cleared my throat and nodded stiffly, but couldn’t hold back a smile. “Um... sure. Okay. Yes, please.” I mentally kicked myself for sounding so awkward.
Frank chuckled softly to himself. “Alright then.” He glanced at his watch. “Okay, I need to go; I’ve got a department meeting in five minutes. I’ll pick you up at seven, is that okay?”
I just nodded again. “Okay. Um... hope your meeting goes well.”
“Me too,” he admitted, and as he pushed away from the wall, his hand fleetingly touched mine. He glanced back over his shoulder at me and lowered his voice. “Come out of the sun now.”
He left me, and I glanced at my hand. I had tanned a little, but my fingers were beginning to prickle. I quickly gathered up my tea, swallowed the last of the Danish, and followed him back inside before heading in the opposite direction into the Museum.
My heart sped up, but it wasn’t with the fear or horror which I knew better. It was fluttering around my chest like a trapped butterfly, and my feet seemed so light that I almost thought I was somehow wearing Hermes’ winged sandals.
I’d known we were friends for a while – and secretly, I’d admitted to myself that he was a good-looking guy – but I’d always told myself that this was me we were talking about. I didn’t have boyfriends or get asked out: that was a simple fact of my life. And I dared to think it might actually be possible for me to be wrong.
Truthfully, I realised, I had felt a little closer to him after I woke up at his house. Not just out of relief that I’d found someone with whom I could share a common ground, but because he had – to put it simply – saved me. That night in Hyde Park, he had explained to me, I’d reached breaking point. Knocking me out was the only way to stop me both from pouncing on that poor, unsuspecting old man – but from seriously injuring myself as well, because I didn’t know what I was doing. Normally, juvenile vampires didn’t experience what I did, because their turners never let them get that far.
But I’d never thought he liked me for more than just being a friend. Maybe that was because I’d come to expect friendship and nothing else, or maybe it also had something to do with how reserved Frank could keep himself. Whatever the reason, I began to hope something might come of Saturday night that would be worth holding on to.
After I finished work, I didn’t go home straightaway. Any thoughts of tiredness after my long day at the Museum were chased away by the prospect of my first date, and like a restless schoolgirl, I went from shop to shop searching for something to wear. I didn’t own any fancy clothes: only comfortable things like jeans and cardigans, so I returned to my flat with my first dress and probably the smartest-looking pair of shoes I’d ever owned.
Saturday couldn’t come soon enough. I took my time getting ready, putting my brand new mascara to use before slipping into the dress. It was dark red and knee-length, with a modest V-neck. I couldn’t stop staring at myself in the mirror. I looked like a different person: the complete opposite of who I was – and absolutely nothing like how I’d been a few years before. Forgetting my cane and the birch pendant around my neck, my hair was straightened without a tangle in sight; my nails – once bitten down to the quick – were long and healthy; my worn-out trainers replaced with black ballet slipper-like shoes.
Oh, Bee, I thought. If only Lucy could see you now.
Frank picked me up in his old Volkswagen Beetle, and we drove to a restaurant in Soho, which was decorated like a giant greenhouse. It wasn’t an overly expensive place, but the food was delicious. We both ordered medium-rare steak, and shared a bottle of champagne. I didn’t care for the drink too much, but I could stand it enough to enjoy the evening. It felt amazing to be sitting there with Frank, a single candle stuck into the neck of a bottle flickering between us on the tabletop.
“So,” he asked me, “how exactly did you end up coming over to London for your first job? I never really caught that when you started at the Museum.”
I took a small sip of the champagne. “Well, I was getting tired of Budapest. I grew up there and, don’t get me wrong; I loved it. But I wanted to see more of the world. And I had a friend who came from London. I wanted to come because of that, really, I suppose.”
Frank nodded. I couldn’t help but glance at him. He was wearing a light blue shirt with the top button left undone, and he’d brushed his shaggy hair behind his ears. It looked strange to see it all pulled back from his face, but brought out the striking emerald in his eyes. He kept them on me as he spoke again, his tone now much quieter.
“Is that the only reason you left?”
I quickly diverted my attention to the blood on my plate. It was thickened from the sauce that had been served with the meal, but was still enough for me to mop up with a slice of baguette. My unease must have shown on my face.
“Don’t worry, there’s no-one close,” he assured. “You can talk to me.”
I believed him, but I still had to check for myself. When I saw that the nearest couple were a good four tables away, I let myself relax a little.
“Well,” I started after a long pause, “I needed to get away. I couldn’t stay there.”
I saw his brows lower slightly. “What do you mean?”
That perfect face flashed in my mind and I shuddered.
Frank noticed. “If you’d rather not talk about it here –”
“No, no, it’s alright.” I held up my hand, and when I placed it back on the tabletop, he slid his own across and softly laid his fingers over mine. I stared at the image, branding it into my memory. With my other hand, I anxiously tapped my cane as it rested beside me.
“I had to get away from... him. My turner.”
Frank held my eyes. “Why?”
I swallowed. “I was scared he was going to kill me.”
Frank’s face suddenly distorted into a coat of confusion. I waited for how he’d respond. “But... that makes no sense. Why go through all the trouble of turning you if he ultimately wanted to hurt you?”
I could only shrug. “You know more about everything to do with... stuff... than I do. I was hoping you could tell me.”
I felt a hopeful gaze coming into my eyes. His brow was furrowed, and he glanced down, as though searching the embroidery of the tablecloth for answers. He drank the last of his champagne and gently shook his head as he thought to himself. A waitress seemed to spring out of nowhere and asked if he wanted a refill, but he refused and I watched as she scuttled away.
Suddenly his eyes widened. “You did give permission, didn’t you?”
At that, it was my turn to frown. “Permission?” I repeated.
He nodded. “To be turned. Did you openly say that you were willing to let him bite you?”
I paused, and delved deep to unearth those memories of the dark night three and a half years before. I saw myself taking the hysterical call from Emily; the underground chamber in the mausoleum; my desperate attempts to protect the house; the horror that came back for us that night. Then I hovered over myself, lying in bed in the hospital, the sun freshly set – and paused the image.
“Why?” I asked cautiously.
Frank swallowed, and I felt his fingers tighten slightly around mine. He spoke slowly, as though each word was carefully crafted and placed appropriately.
“Permission’s needed before anyone can be turned. It means that a bond is formed between a turner an
d their juvenile: there’s a mental link, and it makes them more inclined to stay together – at least until the juvenile comes of age. You see...”
He hesitated, as though unsure of how much further to go.
I fixed his eyes. “Listen,” I said firmly, “compared to what I saw in Hungary, there is nothing you can say that will scare me. So just come on and tell me. Please.”
He rubbed his face with one hand. “Alright,” he whispered, and moistened his lips with his tongue. “When we come of age, all of the energy used to gently ease us into the majority of things – like sunlight and blood and stuff – it catches up with us, all at once. It’s the final transformation, when all vampires are at their weakest. And they’ll... only survive if their turner’s on hand to help them.”
I listened in silence, and as Frank spoke, I could almost swear the Lidérc was right behind me; that ever-present smirk on his face.
“Bee?”
I jumped as Frank’s voice snapped me back into the present. “Yes?”
“Did you hear me?”
I nodded. “Yes. I did.”
He gently tapped the back of my hand with his thumb. “Bee, you need to tell me. Did you give permission?”
In a split second, I recalled everything that had happened since I’d fled Budapest. I’d still seen him in my dreams, but I hadn’t been dreaming – he had been there inside my head. As if we did have some kind of mental link. Did what he’d said – returning to him – have something to do with coming of age?
I suppressed the repulsion enough to focus back on my memory of the hospital. The mist curled under the door. The lights burst out. The alarm rang distantly. And what had he said to me?
“Crude, I will admit... but it is permission enough.”
“Yes,” I said. “I... think I did.”
I glanced at Frank, and was shocked to see that he looked absolutely relieved. I asked why, but he didn’t tell me, because the waitress came back to ask if we were ready to order dessert.
CHAPTER XIII
I felt on edge, although nothing more was said over dinner. Afterwards, when we’d paid the bill and Frank had helped me to the car, I was surprised when he drove straight past the route that headed to Islington, and instead returned to Hyde Park. He led me through the trees and into the heart of the grass, all the greenery an inky black against the sky. It was almost ten o’clock; everyone had gone home before the midnight curfew. Frank took me deep into the Park, and I saw the still water of the Serpentine in the distance. We were alone.