“We don’t usually allow foreigners on our pass but word has traveled fast about you, Guardian.”
Garth was perplexed by the workers’ claim. He’d just left the hag’s home barely a day prior. How could there already be a rumor? Of course, it wasn’t every day that an Immortal challenged the Way of Things by seeking a soul and demanding the condemnation of an evil monarch. He supposed his plans were a tad noteworthy.
The pass was camouflaged from meandering souls by a messy overgrowth. Between and beside its planks, weeds thrived as high and as thick as the surrounding grasses. The trip across was tedious. It was hard to discern board from ditch. The creatures lead the way, babbling on about this and that but rarely divulging anything useful. The secrets of Immortals and angels and witches and ghosts were as mystifying to them as to anyone. They were ignorant and superstitious—the perfect workers.
The walk took longer than anticipated, almost the whole night. The moon was low in the sky when the Queen began to see something in the grass. “It was a faint glowing,” she claimed.
“Can you see souls?” asked a creature.
“Don’t be foolish. No soul would make themselves visible to us or to them,” said the other.
“Are souls invisible?” wondered Helena.
“Yes. Unless they choose not to be,” answered a creature.
“Or if you’re special. Or dead.” Grunted the strange one with the mallet.
“I noticed a glimmering in the distance. I thought it was fireflies,” the Queen continued. “But the glow came closer. Wait…” She pushed her way to the edge of the planks. “I think I can even make out a form.” She peered into the dark bog. Before anyone could speculate her sanity, the Queen flew from the boardwalk and into the muck.
She had indeed seen a soul. The most aggressive of all souls had been following them through the marsh, waiting to throw them off course: the King. He’d murdered her Prince and now his ghost was trying to do the same to her.
“Do something!” shouted Helena. Garth began toward the edge but one of the creatures stopped him.
“You won’t stand a chance in there. That soul is stronger than you! The ground is soft!” it yelled.
“The alarm, the alarm!” yelled the other to the one that hardly spoke. It searched the end of its mallet, which conveniently acted as a horn as well as a hammer. When it blew into the handle, a sound beyond their ears’ capacity bellowed across the field, swaying the grass like a sonic boom. Shortly after, they felt a vibration underneath. The boards rattled from the wheels of the Seekers’ chariots.
“They’re coming, they’re coming! They’re coming for you!” said a creature in the King’s direction. The warning must have shaken the King’s grasp. The Queen shot her head out of the mud and gasped for breath even though she didn’t need to take one in.
“Garth! Help!” she choked as she reached in his direction.
“It’s alright. I’ve almost got you,” Garth said with an extended arm. His fingers reached for hers but something pulled her back, again. An agonizing scream escaped her mouth before the life escaped her body. She became just a piece of stone bobbing in swamp.
From where they stood, they were unable to distinguish her state. “What did he do to her?” cried Helena. She went over to the horned creature, “Did he kill her?”
Suddenly, the Queen’s face sprang back to life. Another scream shot from her and into the night sky. She’d returned to her form but was slipping fast.
Two unhorsed chariots arrived, each bearing a tall Seeker grimly robed in black. As they dismounted, they draped their cloaks over their transports to reveal stealthily built frames. Each body was thin—all legs and arms that sleekly plunged into the marsh in search of the unruly soul.
An invisible battle took place before them. The King was nearly transparent and the Seekers looked like nothing more that reeds among reeds. “Where is she? Where is she?” cried Helena, leaning over the side but careful of not falling in, herself.
“Calm down, she can’t drown,” Garth said trying to keep her at ease. “The Seekers will get him.” He wanted to believe that it was true but somewhere within himself, he knew he was lying.
“Our masters will get him,” said a creature. “That soul is done for with the Seekers here. Nobody stands a chance against those Immortals.” Garth couldn’t decide if it was just excited or actually taking a jab at his inadequacies.
The Queen emerged from the sludge and clawed for the walkway. As Garth and Helena went to her aid, the Seekers fell out of favor on the field. One of their tiny round heads cried towards the heavens as what looked like a branch flew onto the planks. The long arm twitched three or four times before it died.
With his comrade injured, the other Seeker lunged forcefully towards the King, who was growing more and more visible as the fight went on. But its fervor was short lived. The King’s hands were quick to lock its limbs in an inescapable grasp. Just before the Seeker was torn apart, it shouted ancient words to the creature with the horn. The mallet was raised and another silent call was sent through the marshes to bring more Seekers to the scene.
Three more appeared running over the grasses. Their slender legs stabbed the earth as they strode. One more arrived on horseback from further down the pass. Unfortunately, the rage the approaching Seekers carried for the murder of their brethren was never released. Just as quickly as he dismembered an Immortal, the ghost of the King was gone. Nobody heard an incantation or saw a magic relic in is hand. He simply disappeared.
The Queen lay on the boards, covered in mud. She looked at the dead arm of one of the Immortals who had tried to save her. “How did this happen?” she asked. “Mortal souls should not be this strong!”
One of the Seekers stepped forward. “That one is powerful. It knows a forbidden magic, a magic that even we do not know how to combat.”
*
The Night Creature opened the door to his downtown apartment with the swagger of a Craigslist trick. “You’re cute,” he said with a smirk.
“Thanks,” I replied, unable to decide if I should return the compliment or just take it like a man (on the verge of a nervous breakdown). Technically, I was there for sex, so some flirty back and forth would have been appropriate. But I was hardly in the mood. The date was made for anything but pleasure, like in the olden days when copulation involved an exchange of cattle and mules before the quote-unquote fun began.
He was definitely sexy…sample size sexy. His slightly odd model face was expectedly pale and framed by wisps of maple hair that fell from a messy ponytail. His long limbs were attached to a perfect v-shaped torso, like the diagrams of ideal bodies in anatomy drawing books.
“I’m Bryant, by the way. I don’t know if Rita told you that,” he said.
No, she didn’t. All she did was send me on my way and say that, out of respect, Garth couldn’t come in. At first that made me panic to the point of almost passing out. Then I recognized that having him around during intimate acts was weirder than his existence in the first place. I’d have to face something on my own for once. “Please tell me you talked to her about my situation. The reiteration is just too awkward,” I said.
He laughed and flashed his large, prefect teeth. They were by no means daggers but I suppose his canines were more pronounced than most. “I did, don’t worry. Rita and I are old friends. If she asks for something, I know it’s important. And you can come in now.” I was still in the doorway, gripping the molding in the hallway. “I’m really not as scary as you want me to be. And if I were, you’d already be in danger. If I made a move right now, your Guardian wouldn’t have a chance in Hell at making it to you in time. My poison works quickly.”
My breath promptly stopped and my face became as pale as his. I flinched as he made his approach. Actually, flinching is an understatement. I full out twitched. Possibly even thrashed.
“Hey, hey, hey,” he said laying his hand on my shoulder, his thumb stroking my neck. “I’m kidding. Relax.”
>
The apartment was immaculate. Modern and classic blended eclectically with artistic, and sometimes campy, touches. Large, leaded windows were exposed from their roman blind enclosure and beige linen curtains reached towards crown molding covered in layer upon layer of paint. The walls were jewel-toned, the furniture light. There wasn’t a hint of usual vampire fare like velvet or gilding or gothic revival. I was only disturbed by the taxidermy. Right inside the door, a dusty stuffed bird cocked its head at mine. A fox crawled across a bookshelf and a bat hung in the corner. “I’ve been collecting these animals for years. Except the bat, he’s new. I just couldn’t resist that one.” He chuckled. “It’s nice to capture things before they decay. Give them the appearance of life, don’t you think?” He looked at me for affirmation. “I think so, anyway.”
Two cat-sized dogs came romping into the living room and sniffed my feet. My crotch was two feet too high for their noses. One of them quickly lost interest. “That’s Murphy Brown,” he said. Then he pointed his toes at the tinier, shakier of the two, “And this is Corky Sherwood.”
“So, the dogs…you’re gay, right?” I said, half-joking.
“How typical, I know.” He picked up Murphy and walked into the kitchen to pour me a glass of water. “I’m actually hyper-gay. This affliction heightens my natural instincts. The taste for flesh, quick reflexes, and the need to breed, are all intensified as a Night Creature.” He laughed again. At least he had a sense of humor about his condition.
“You do this often? Breeding?”
“Bad word choice. The need to…be carnal.”
“You mean, fuck.”
“If you like sounding boorish.”
“I do.”
He leaned onto the counter towards me. “You’re going to be fun. I can tell. Lemon?”
“Did you buy that just for me?”
“They don’t just add flavor to water, you know.” He cut and garnished a glass fit for Martha Stewart. “To answer your question; No, I don’t breed often. It’s reckless.” He quietly wrapped the remaining lemon in plastic and put it in the refrigerator. I caught him relish in the new scent on his fingers. “Spreading this condition must be done with purpose.”
“And what we’re going to do is purposeful?”
“The act isn’t. That’s nature. As I said, my carnal urges are very prominent. Dogs don’t hump legs to make puppies. They just like the way it feels.” He stared at me for a moment to see if I’d react to his suggestive tone. I tried not to turn red. Then he continued. “To infect, or breed as we’re calling it, is a conscious decision. In your case it’s the only way to save you. That’s why I have no qualms.”
What little color he had in his face flushed away. His eyes grew distant. I got the impression that he had baggage related to spreading himself around, as it were. The sorrow in his expression made me wonder what about his Night Creature-ness was so terrible. The man in front of me was no monster.
“My condition isn’t something that needs spreading around. I’m not always this put together, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Can you read minds?” I asked, suddenly transporting myself into every other vampire scenario in popular culture.
“No, but the face you’re making speaks volumes about your thoughts on the matter. That, or you need to use the bathroom.” He squirted a fluid from an eyedropper into my glass. The oily stream danced around and fought with the lemon’s acid. A swift stir blended the battling forces nicely. “There’s that face again. It’s not poison. Just some poppy, passionflower, and lavender. Helpers. You’re anxious.”
I took a deep inhalation to collect myself. Then I fixed my hair, which had become a parody of itself during the last frenzied hours. I tucked several unruly locks behind my ears but an escapee bounced back onto my forehead. Bryant abandoned the glass he’d just prepared and tousled the disobedient curl. His seduction brought on feelings that I’d lost since my life turned to the fantastic. My constant distractions with attackers, witches, superheroes, and pseudo-boyfriends made sex fall to the wayside. The red light that I’d hoped would be burning over my relationship with Robbie had dimmed. I simply wasn’t available. Most nights I just wanted to be in bed with someone, curled up in the safety of another’s embrace.
With Bryant I felt free. The strings were cut. If torrid histories existed, they didn’t matter. There was no courtship, no need to take things slow or impress him. His peculiarities were laid out on the table. No probing necessary. Real life was nonexistent. It was just the two of us and whatever surface would hold our weight.
His lips grazed mine and his sweet breath moistened the tip of my nose. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.
Him, yes.
The vampire thing, not so much.
But there wasn’t a choice.
He was hesitant. Our brows leaned against each other, leaving barely an inch between lips. “Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked.
“What happens to you, it won’t last long. I promise,” he whispered. “Don’t hate me tomorrow.”
I kissed him softly before The Way of Things took its course…
Who knew a vampire could be so sweet?
*
The deed was done and it was great…fantastic, actually. Tricks of days gone by had been quick and to the point. Those intentions were selfish and any attempts at helping a partner feel something were made only to hear compliments in the aftermath on technique. The voices in my head were typically bickering about status:
“What are you doing?”
“What is he doing?”
“You could do better.”
“Get it over with.”
But coupling with Bryant switched off my human processes. It had the satisfaction of a booze-fueled fuck without the drowsiness and nausea. We acted on impulse, created a give and take that energized our experiment. Our satisfaction was earned only by cooperation. The encounter was fleeting and perfect, like the last minute of a dream before the alarm goes off.
The dogs hid under the bed and scratched at a mangled toy. A fish tank trickled next to us. “What’s that?” I asked while looking at a large portrait on the opposite wall. He lay next to me, arms across my chest and face buried in my neck. “Are you going to bite me?”
His head rose. Through a curtain of hair he smiled and mouthed “No.” His thumb stroked my brow and he said, “It’s a portrait of Cate Blanchett.”
A surprising answer, especially to a Cate worshipper like myself. I knew Cate when I saw Cate, and that wasn’t Cate. My scrunched up face broadcast my feelings on the sketch. “I’m not the most literal artist,” he said. “It started as just a generic face. But I felt cruel drawing a portrait and not giving it an identity. So I assigned it to her. I thought it fitting because she’s the same way.”
“A blank canvas?”
“Yes. She can be anyone, not just because of her talent. Her face is so malleable. Perfect for a performer.”
“She can probably do anything. ‘Play Nixon!’ and she’d do it.”
He sent me an agreeable smirk as he looked at her. Their gaze held like old friends. “Wouldn’t it be great to have a life as versatile as her face?” he wondered.
I could tell he was about to fall into an unhappy place so I moved on. “You’re an artist when you’re not sucking blood?” I said.
“I am. I drew comics for quite some time. The money was great. Now I can afford to experiment in different mediums. Art is a solitary kind of work. It’s easy to work around the sensitivity to light and strange urges.”
I became anxious thinking of how I’d be affected. I found comfort in his promise that it wouldn’t last long.
“Don’t go falling in love with me, Jeremy,” he blurted out. I hadn’t noticed that I’d nestled myself safely beside, almost under him. “The post-coital chemicals are intensified here. This tenderness will pass.”
But I didn’t want it to. I’d never felt so warm before. He wasn’t cold like the dead thi
ngs of his fabricated ancestry. He was anything but dead. Life exuded from every pore, always trying to show itself. There was a remarkable man buried under the constraints of his condition. I found his lips and obsessively kissed them, like my kindness would heal him and make him mine.
But I wasn’t in a typical faerie tale. Kisses didn’t return life to the sleeping princess. It ignited her nightmares.
“Stop,” he yelled. “The dosage needs to be controlled.”
“It’s already in me,” I said like I was trying to justify another beer after having already finishing the keg.
“I’ve done enough. You’ll be glad I’m putting an end to this,” he scolded. “Tomorrow morning will be unbearable.” His argument was halfhearted. I knew he wanted my love.
I needed to touch him. As I went for his arm, his face, his hair, his anything, he grabbed me. His large hands wrapped around my delicate wrists. I whimpered.
“I’m sorry,” he said. But he still dominated me. He pinned me to the bed and began kissing and nibbling my body, dancing the line between agony and ecstasy.
Just as I began to feel a bruise form under his clenched hand, he jumped from me. “Get out,” he barked.
“Bryant, I—”
“Please leave.” He turned away from me and looked at Cate’s portrait.
10. Transformations
The travelers saw the light before they saw a single tree. The moon reflected off the birches’ white skin, casting a heavenly aura around the orchard. Its brightness muddled the space where trees ended and sky began. Birch trunks pierced the heavens like giants with long, lithe necks. Garth wished he could climb one and place Francis on a cloud instead of facing the trials at hand. The thought of encountering the King again sent flashes of terror through him. If that evil soul could tear a Seeker limb from limb, who knew what it could do to them. He hoped the Queen’s secret plan would put an end to him once and for all.
“I trust your scheme doesn’t involve a blood sacrifice of my body…when I get one,” said Garth.
In Stone: A Grotesque Faerie Tale Page 15