by Densie Webb
As the morning passes, it’s clear that Tyler and I together are a dynamic duo—he’s Robin to my Batman—dealing with freelancers, polishing edits, confirming the layout, fact checking the fact checkers, keeping the advertising department informed of what we’re doing. Things are getting done, as Peter looks on.
He makes a few suggestions, gives a nod or two of approval on the layout, but he is understandably preoccupied. By four o’clock, I allow myself to believe we might really be able to pull this off.
Zach shows up to get Peter and he immediately comes over to hug me. He’s nothing like I had pictured. He looks more Austin than Manhattan, with his torn “Boyfrnz” T-shirt, ripped jeans, and a beanie that says, “I Woke Up Like This.” Strands of persimmon-colored hair fall on his shoulders. The pungent smell of weed follows him into the room. I understand that coping mechanism well.
“Petey’s told me all about you. I’m so glad we got to meet.”
“Me too,” I say into his shoulder, before retreating. Small talk doesn’t feel right under the circumstances, so we exchange sad smiles before he helps Peter with his jacket.
“Let’s go, babe.” And they leave, huddled together, whispering what I imagine to be bittersweet nothings they have precious little time to share.
The scene instills a sense of panic, a full realization of just how limited my time with Vincent will be. At least the time when we’re both young and in love. I desperately want to hang on to it, make it last, make it real—make it matter.
When six o’clock rolls around, I turn to Tyler, “I think we’re good. We can pick this up tomorrow. We don’t need to stay late today after all.” I wish I could say that I’m being generous, but the truth is I’m anxious to be with Vincent again. The thought has barely formed when my phone rings.
“Hi. I was just wrapping it up here. I was going to call to see if—"
“Andie, I have some news to share. Can you meet me at my flat?”
The sadness that he wears like a second skin—gone. He sounds happier than I’ve ever heard him. Buoyant, in fact.
“What is it?”
“I must tell you in person. When can you be here?”
“Say thirty, forty-five minutes?”
“Yes, I will see you then.”
My desk is in a mess but I have no thoughts left for work. I’m ready to rush home, take a quick shower, change clothes and pick up a few items to keep at Vincent’s place. A nightgown, toothbrush, contacts. And food. I need to bring food. Maybe some soy yogurt, crackers, bagels.
I actually feel myself jumping the reality warp to enter Vincent’s world. It’s like I’ve got one foot firmly rooted in my workaday world and the other is stuck in some alternate dimension of time and space, where Vincent exists and real-world rules don’t apply. The question is, can they coexist? Can I? But I already know the answer―I have no choice.
Chapter 49
Vincent
Earlier that day, as promised, Gus walked into the shop at the appointed time and flipped the sign on the door to “closed.” He reached out to shake my hand. I crossed my arms tightly against my chest in response and he simply shrugged.
“Gus, do you have it with you?”
“Do you have what I want?”
“I have a reliable source.”
He stared, daring me to continue.
“It would be foolish for me to share that information with you. There’s no need to worry. I will keep my end of the bargain.”
“Okay, okay. Just don’t skip out on me,” he said, wagging his finger at me, his shellacked, elongated nails as sharp as knives and just as deadly. “I’m not in this enterprise alone, you know.”
I turned my back, pretending to be busy with paperwork. “Your gang of degenerates doesn’t frighten me,” I mumbled.
He leaned in and whispered over my shoulder, “Oh, you should be very afraid.”
He straightened and crossed his arms, “So, when can I expect delivery?”
Reluctantly, I turned back around to face him. “How many do you want?” I couldn’t believe I was actually doing this; I was actually putting my fate in his hands.
“As many as you can get.”
After an exhaustive search, I had found a small company specializing in rare flowers. Their flowers were exorbitantly priced, but according to Gus, money was no object.
“I can have five hundred black orchids delivered within two weeks.”
He snapped his fingers and pointed at me. “Done.” Rubbing his hands together in a miserly gesture, he said, “And just keep those beauties coming.”
I nodded. We stood in stiff silence and I looked him in the eye. Once again I experienced a stinging familiarity, even stronger than when I first met him in London over a century ago.
“Let me know the date and I’ll bring the cash and a van for pickup. And the cure, of course.” He looked as if his face was being held hostage by a smile.
“No.” I threw my shoulders back in defiance, towering over him. “I want the cure before the weekend.”
He frowned, hesitated, then bowed, gesticulating as if to say, “I am at your service.”
“You bring me confirmation of the order and I’ll bring the cure to you.” He slid closer and slipped a business card into my hand. The scent of fresh blood and his latest victim’s fear radiated off him, infusing the air with mouthwatering echoes of my past. I took a step back.
“Do I make you uncomfortable, Vincent?”
“I prefer to keep my distance.”
“I was told you had a stubborn independent streak.”
“By whom?”
“It’s not important.” He dismissed me with a wave of his hand.
“Anything else?” I wanted him out of my shop.
“I’m incredibly curious—why are you so set on joining Andie in her human frailty?”
Simply uttering her name turned it into a vulgarity. I didn’t answer.
“Why not gift her with immortality?”
Only once before had my condition been referred to as a “gift.”
“It’s not a ‘gift,’ Gus; it’s a curse. I don’t want her to struggle, to live forever in pain, to be filled with unbearable self-hatred.”
He looked sincerely stymied.
“I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Perhaps you’ve forgotten, Vincent, but being human is not all rainbows and unicorns. You will experience pain. Lots and lots of pain.”
He strode across the room and turned the sign around to “Welcome!” and, without another word, closed the door behind him. I watched him make his way down the block. He stopped a young woman, likely under the ruse of asking for directions. A common technique of all manner of predators. My hand gripped the doorknob. I thought to open the door and call him back. I started to rush out and stop what I knew was about to happen. If I spared her, I would risk his wrath.
Instead, I averted my eyes and glanced around the shop. The orchids delivered yesterday had bloomed. If nurtured properly, the bulbs emerge from the earth and when they have shared their beauty, served their function, they fold into themselves and die. The natural order of things.
I shoved the door open, rattling the glass, and rushed out onto the sidewalk.
But they were gone.
Chapter 50
Andie
As I stand on the train, I’m sandwiched between a guy who desperately needs to shower, a woman who refuses to hold onto a strap and crashes into me each time the train hiccups, and a tone-deaf high-schooler singing along with Taylor Swift—I think. But none of this can get to me right now. I’m on my way to Vincent.
The train screeches to a halt at 125th Street. As I run up the stairs to the now familiar street corner with a Korean market, a pawn broker; and an empty lot—a preconstruction gaping hole in the earth, surrounded by uninspired fencing and “Post No Bills” flyers—I’m scrolling through the possibilities of Vincent’s news…he’s going to take me on a trip to Paris? He wants me to move in with him? Maybe he�
�s changed his mind about helping Peter? Or about changing me?
The late-day sun delivers fading daylight for the avenues, but as I walk over to St. Nicholas Avenue, the pavement is draped in shade and I feel chilled. The sidewalks are teeming with people on their way home from work, from the greengrocers, the gym, and rambunctious kids are noisily making their way home from after school activities. We haven’t talked about it, but I know that children are not an option with Vincent. The hollow space in my heart echoes an aching regret. They say you can’t miss what you’ve never had, but that’s not true.
I always assumed I would have a family—or at least the choice to create one. But by choosing Vincent, I’m giving up my chance of ever having kids. I will never sing “The Wheels on the Bus” or read “Goodnight Moon” at bedtime to a towheaded child begging, “Mommy, read it again.” The fault line in my heart splits open.
And what happens when I’m old enough to be his grandmother and he’s still beautiful, a photograph frozen in time? I will grow old and die, and he will live on. Youthful. Forever. Alone.
I ring the bell and Vincent buzzes me in. Stepping onto the elevator, I again hear the excitement in Vincent’s voice and wonder what his news might be. This must something much bigger than I’ve imagined. Maybe Nicholas has returned? But that possible news seizes me with apprehension, not unbridled joy.
The elevator door opens and Vincent is standing in the hallway, waiting for me, grinning from his cheeks. He’s always beautiful, but happiness makes him shine. Without a word, he gathers me in his arms, kisses me and whispers in my ear, “Andie, my prayers have been answered. I can now undo the wrong that was done to me and we can start anew.”
Confusion is front and center, blocking my view of what exactly is playing out here. He still has me in a snug embrace—too snug. “Vincent, I can’t breathe.”
He releases me, steps back and, looking sheepish, says, “I’m sorry. I’m overly excited.”
Manic is more like it, but it’s contagious. “Okay, what’s going on?”
“Come in, put your things down, and I’ll make you a drink. This news deserves a toast.”
I sigh, impatient to learn what potentially life-altering news he has in store for me this time. He opens the door and steps back so I can walk in first. I set my things on the kitchen counter and position myself on a barstool as he gets busy preparing our drinks.
“So,” he says with forced calm, “how was your day?”
I laugh. “Seriously? I’ll tell you about my day after you tell me what the hell this is about.”
He slides my martini over to me—dirty, just like I like it—and looks me in the eye before taking one long drink, draining his Scotch. He comes around to stand in front of me and takes my hands in his. He’s nearly vibrating with excitement when he says, “Andie, there’s a cure.”
Hope bottle rockets from my heart. “A cure? For Peter?”
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “No, Andie.” He steps back. “For me.”
“What’s wrong with you?” My throat tightens. Can Kindred get sick? Am I going to lose my friend and my love?
He gives me an exasperated look that tells me I’m overlooking the obvious.
“A cure so that I can become human again, every bit as human as you. Andie, it’s a miracle.”
His words ping from one side of my brain to the other. Have researchers been searching for a Kindred cure, like the National Cancer Institute searches for a cure for cancer? I envision dark underground labs, Victor Frankenstein, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
What he’s saying is as farfetched as if someone had said they could bring my parents back from the dead. Right now, I’m not sure which would be more mystifying. But this is real. I see it in his eyes. It’s as real as fog or wind, and just as impossible to grasp.
Chapter 51
Vincent
I want this to be the moment we will always remember as the day our life together truly began. The moment when the pain of the past is desiccated, replaced with dewy hope for the future. I want to savor the moment. I want to taste it. I want a slow-motion reel of her reaction as I tell her we can have a normal life together—that I will be her husband, that we can grow old together.
Sharing this remarkable news with Andie triggers memories of childlike excitement, decorating of the Christmas tree with apples and candy that I would steal piece by piece, and paper roses my mother had hand made. Shoppers thronging the streets, offering heartfelt wishes to everyone to have a Joyeux Nöel. And then there was le reveillon, the late-night celebratory meal before midnight on Christmas Eve.
I always fell asleep on maman’s soft shoulder halfway through mass, unable to ignore the lullaby of her heartbeat, the satisfaction of my full stomach and the tranquil effect of the small glass of rich red wine I was allowed to drink. Her comforting scent was of turkey with chestnuts, venison, lamb, foie gras, oysters, escargot, cheese, dates and too many sweets to count. Excitement is embedded in those memories, the same childlike excitement I feel now.
“I don’t understand. How is this even possible? Did you know about this?”
“Gus is going to give it to me. He—"
“That awful kid at the bar? Seriously? You trust him?”
“I didn’t at first, but he brought proof. A Kindred I met decades ago in Europe. Andie, he was human. He’s married and has children. He has aged.”
She crinkles her forehead, lets out a shaky breath.
“In return, I have promised to help him obtain the raw ingredients, one of which is a rare black orchid.”
“So you did know—I mean, that’s the name of your shop.”
“I only knew of folklore involving black orchids, but it was vague. Something about the flowers providing unique abilities. The name of the shop was rather tongue in cheek, but I had no clue as to—this.”
Her silence speaks to her incomprehension. I hear the thrumming of her heart, a bass drum in her chest, the blood pushing through her arteries with every beat.
I lift her chin up to kiss her. “Andie, this is real.”
She stops. Frowns. “Is it safe? Can it go wrong?”
“Elijah swore it to be safe and insisted that dozens have changed without any lasting side effects.”
“Is it painful?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“How painful?”
I smile, as if I’m talking to a child who’s afraid of a visit to the dentist.
“I’m certain it won’t be pleasant, but I’m willing to endure whatever it takes.”
She places her palm on her forehead as if checking for fever. “Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?”
“Andie, I’ve never been more certain of anything.”
“What if something does go wrong? It’s not like I can take you to the Emergency Room. And I don’t trust that Gus kid.” She shakes her head and curls her lip in disgust. “At all.”
I bring her to my chest once again and whisper, “I must do this. For us. All will be well.” I pull back to look her in the eye.
She is overwhelmed by the possibility of a different future than the one I had offered her, a better future. A fully realized future. I kiss her deeply, drunk on the certainty that only good things wait for us.
Later, as we lie together, her head resting on my chest, her eyes close, despite her protestations. I ease my arms out from under her and she rolls over, sighs and curls herself into a ball and hugs the pillow. I have been unable to retrieve clear memories of drifting off to sleep like that, but despite Elijah’s warning that it is frightening, I’m anxious to experience it again for myself.
I retreat to the living room to wait for sunrise, open my book to where it is marked and pick up where I left off. An hour passes before it dawns on me that I’ve been reading the same few pages over and over. I had disappeared into my thoughts—no more hiding what I am; no more anger and guilt over what I am forced to do; no worries that, in a moment of weakness, I might harm Andie.
But then my deep concern for Nicholas and the consequences of his actions worm their way in and won’t let me be. Despite his insistence that I leave him alone to fight his own internal battles, I must seek him out before I take the cure, and try, once again, to help him chain his demons. Once I’ve taken the cure, once I’m human again, that won’t be possible.
Chapter 52
Andie
Vincent is standing in the kitchen, his back to me. “Andie, dinner is ready,” he says. His voice is weak, gravelly. I come up behind him and slide my hands around his thickened middle. “What are you making?” I ask. He turns around. His face is wrinkled and dotted with age spots. His hairline has receded and he’s completely gray. “Blood pudding,” he says, smiling as if it’s my favorite dish. I peer around him, into the pot and it’s filled to the brim with blood, bubbling up, almost boiling over. I wake up with a start, gagging, and coughing.
Vincent rushes into the bedroom, a coffee and a paper bag in his hands. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I force myself to shake off the disturbing image.
“Coffee and a cranberry scone?” he says, raising them up for me to see. “The scone is fresh.”
“Just coffee, please.”
He hands me the coffee; the first sip provides immediate caffeine relief and his first kiss of the day chases away the nightmare’s darkness.
I take a few more sips.
He sits on the edge of the bed next to me, before slowly sliding off, getting down on his knees, resting his hands on my thighs and slowly inching my legs apart. He’s looks at me expectantly.
“Vincent, I can’t. I really have to get home, shower, and change before work.”
He laughs quickly. “You are such a temptation.”
I feel his presence like a vapor enveloping me and I know what I’ll feel if I stay. Reluctantly I stand, gather my things and dress. I pause at the door, kiss him goodbye and whisper, “Tonight.”
“Yes, tonight,” he says, implicit with the promise of the very thing I already regret turning down this morning.
****
As I slip the key in the lock, I hear Mack singing at the top of her lungs. She must be wearing her three-hundred-dollar, noise-cancelling headphones, and my guess is, she’s dancing around the room in her underwear. I open the door and she’s really gettin’ down.