Never Show Fear

by Nicola Claire

  Gregor closes his eyes; lets out a breath of air that carries an unimaginable weight. And then smiles softly.

  When he looks at me again, he appears almost human. No fangs. No iridescent shine to his eyes. Just a young man, standing in the shadow of a great house, on the hill of Montmartre in Paris.

  “Welcome home, Nosferatin,” he says.

  The house shudders. The gate swings open. Warmth and light and the scents of a great feast greet us. The children rush forward before I can think to stop them. The house lets out a sigh and settles on its foundations. Mist rolls in and curls against the walls of the garden, edging out along the sides of the house itself, swallowing the cobblestoned street.

  The ward is hiding the property from Norm sight. Perhaps, even, from Vampyre sight, also.

  I step over the threshold, Gregor accompanying me. The wards don’t seem to mind; maybe they recognise him. Maybe because he is a friend to me, the wards accept him.

  The gate shuts at our back, and something brushes against me, stokes my arms, cups my face, runs fingers through my hair and over every inch of my body. It’s as if the ward — no, the House — is familiarising itself with me.

  I hear squeals of delight from inside the building. Yvette has found something she says is tasty. Gaspard exclaims over a shelf of board games. Pierre giggles while chasing a cat through the doorways. Suzette kneels beside a pond, staring into the murky depths, tears running down her face. Fabienne stands entranced in front of a painting; I cannot see what it depicts, but I have a feeling it speaks of family; of belonging.

  Something tugs on me so I follow the call. It takes me up the stairs to the second storey. It guides me down a hallway that is lit with soft lamplight. Tapestries and paintings brighten the walls. Flowers sit in a vase on a hall table. I cannot believe Gregor has done this in preparation for our arrival, so I must conclude it is the House’s doing.

  It brings me to a bedroom. The master room, if the size means anything. There is a sizeable four-posted bed, with thick curtains to hide away from the world behind. A sitting area beside a roaring fire in a stone hearth. A desk and chair beside open windows with solid shutters that can be closed when the sun rises. This house is a Nosferatin House, but it is also prepared to harbour our Kindred.

  I walk in a trance to the desk and sit down in the chair and stare across the finely appointed room to the fire flickering in the fireplace.

  I am home.

  We are safe.

  The House tells me this. It wraps me up in its warmth, lets me feel its soul, brings Light into the Darkness that had been encroaching.

  “Thank you, mon ami,” I say.

  The House shudders in answer and then settles with a finality that seals my fate.

  I am its. It is mine. We are whole.

  Gregor appears in the doorway. He sees the look of profound understanding on my face. He smiles softly.

  “It does not choose its bond-mate easily,” he says. “They must match the House; complement it, enhance its abilities.”

  “What sort of abilities?”

  Gregor laughs. “Only a Hunter would think of defence first.”

  I grin back at my vampire friend, unrepentantly.

  He sobers. “The House can hide itself and those within its borders. It can call to others like you, and guide them to the gate. It will rise up in arms against attackers. But there is a limit to the defence it can offer when numbers are greater than the magic it possesses. You are yet immature, Yves. Not kindred-joined with a vampyre. Your powers are limited and therefore, so are the House’s. In time, you will both be a formidable pair, but for now, know your limitations and work within them.”

  “Will you help us defend against the Evil Ones?” I ask the vampire before me.

  He looks around the room; a flash of sorrow briefly dulls the silver and platinum shining in his eyes.

  It’s almost as if he’s saying goodbye to the place.

  I am more certain now than ever that my new role was once his.

  “I will stand with House Nosferatin,” the vampire declares.

  And the House lets out a mournful sigh as if its heart breaks.

  * * *

  Gregor does not stay the day with us. He’s concerned about Michel, having not heard from the vampire since midnight. I also believe that staying in the House during the day is too painful for him. I have never met a vampire with such a conflicted emotional front. He tries his best to hide his reactions to the House and us — or anything Nosferatin, really — but I can see right through him.

  The House does, too, because it cries. Or does what I have come to consider as the House’s equivalent of weeping.

  We spend the daylight hours familiarising ourselves with our new home. We do not venture out into the city, although now would be safer to do so than when the moon rises again. There is no immediate need to, though. The House has provided food for us; which it tells me is not something it can do unless the larder is stocked first. The hearth burns with lazy flames; also requiring wood in the woodshed at some stage. The linens are fresh, and the floors swept clean. I have the feeling Gregor is responsible for our initial good fortune; in so many ways.

  Gaspard spends the daylight hours mastering his new board games. Pierre has befriended the fat cat, and when not napping, he's chasing the wee beast, and then chasing Fabienne, who squeals with outrage. Yvette reads from the well-endowed library, and Suzette stares at the fish in the pond in the garden; her mind cushioned from reality.

  I should be training them; preparing them for what is surely to come. I can’t help feeling we have not shaken the Evil Ones. The Champion has agreed to our staying in her city. We have two vampires who appear to back us. A House that is more alive than inanimate. And yet, I cannot help but keep a wary eye out of my second storey window for any hint of dark cloaks and red eyes lurking in shadows.

  They decimated our nest in Ventimiglia. A nest that had flourished unhindered there for many decades.

  How did they find us?

  Why did they find us?

  It would have taken effort, planning, a willingness to hunt beings who were not directly in their way. We were not a fortuitous undertaking; they attacked our nest with purpose. The chase began in Ventimiglia, and although it appears we are now safe, I cannot believe the vampires who killed our elders — who have our scent now in their noses — will relinquish their hunt simply because we have found shelter in the Iunctio’s city.

  The shadows do not give up their secrets, though, and I cannot stand at my window all day, so I find myself walking the garden, my feet — and heart —taking me to only one place.

  Suzette looks up from her fish gazing, a soft smile spreading her lips. Her cheeks are rosy red from the sun, the dark marks beneath her eyes that she has worn for days now have almost vanished. She looks healthy and clean and cared for. Yet again, I am floored by our good fortune, by the House’s attempts to heal us. By Gregor’s gift which ripped open a wound, I fear the vampire has hidden for over a century.

  “Isn’t it wonderful?” Suzette says.

  “Yes,” I reply, but my eyes are soaking her in, and I think my words speak of something other than the House and our change in circumstances.

  “There is space here to practice,” she tells me, indicating a grassed area that is devoid of obstacles. “And I found a room full of weapons,” she tells me. “Swords and maces and stakes and things I have no name for. We will do well here, Yves. Very well.”

  I do not want to wipe the happy look off her face, but Suzette is a Nosferatin and it would be disrespectful of me to treat her any other way.

  I cross to a bench and take a seat, resting my elbows on my knees, and stare into the pond. I can see why she enjoys sitting here. It’s peaceful. Calming.

  She is aware, I realise. That’s why she sits here. A moment out of time. A moment to breathe freely.

  “I do not know when they will come,” I say quietly. “But they will come.”

 
“The House is warded,” she says, but it isn’t offered as an argument; merely an observation.

  “They have our scent now, and the House can only obscure it from behind its walls.”

  “They’ll follow the scent to our street.” I nod. “What do you want to do?”

  My eyes meet hers, and I see her unwavering faith in me. A faith I am unsure I deserve.

  But I am the eldest. It’s my responsibility to keep them all safe. A responsibility I carry without reserve. They are my family. Not by blood, but by proximity. By a chance of birth that has made us vampire prey.

  “Perhaps we will start with this room of weapons you found,” I say.

  Suzette smiles brightly; enjoying her role in the preparations. Grateful I am including her in my planning.

  The elders never told us what they did to keep us safe. Our lessons covered broad subjects on the matter; from self-defence classes to theoretical strategy scenarios, to every type of weapon available. But if they planned, if they discussed our survival in any quantifiable way, they did not see fit to include the children in their discussions.

  I will not burden Pierre or Fabienne, but Gaspard and Yvette are old enough to have a say. And Suzette…Well, Suzette is my rock, my safe harbour. My lighthouse in a storm-tossed sea.

  She stands when I do, eager to show me her find. I reach out and snag her hand before she slips away.

  “I couldn’t do this without you,” I tell her.

  She stills slightly. Cocks her head at an angle. Then says, “You won’t ever have to do this without me, Yves.”

  “If something happens to me…”

  “I won’t let it.”

  “…If it does,” I stress. “You are my Second. The House will accept you as its bond-mate.” I’m not sure about that, but the House does offer up a creak that’s not as heavy as previous ones as if it is a positive response to my speaking on its behalf in such a rash way.

  “You can count on me, Yves,” Suzette says.

  I want to tell her more. I want to tell her how much she means to me, not just as a nest-mate, or a Nosferatin, or as my Second. But she is only thirteen, so those things will wait.

  We live long lives; we Nosferatin. As long as we kindred-join before one moon past our twenty-fifth birthdays, we live as long as our kindred-vampire does.

  Symbiotic the relationship.

  So, there is time for Suzette to grow up. There is time to bare my heart and soul to this female. I will wait; a patient Hunter. I will make her world safe so she can grow up. There are so many reasons to do so, but right then, as I stare into her vibrantly blue eyes, hold her hunter-roughened hand in mine, I can only think of what a grown-up Suzette will be like, and how I wish to make her mine one day.

  She smiles at me, a knowing, far-too-knowledgable-for-her-age smile.

  She can see right through me.

  I offer a self-deprecating laugh. She winks at me and skips away.

  I follow behind like a lovesick puppy. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  The room she brings me to is well stocked. The weapons surprisingly well cared for. But then, perhaps not so surprising at all. Gregor will have had a hand in that, I dare say. We familiarise ourselves with what is there, and then the House reveals some of its personal protections to me. I am at a loss for words at what it shows me — automatic crossbows, with hundreds of bolts already lying in wait. Buckets of tar and oil-soaked torches ready to light the sticky and flammable substance before the bucket is pitched from the rafters to land on whoever is unfortunate enough to stand in its way. Silver chains that can rise from street level. Large metal bars that lock into place over the doors. Thick, reinforced shutters that close when the house wishes them closed, and won’t open again no matter how hard I pull on them.

  Tiny flying silver stakes and silver-tipped arrows. Rings of fire where a castle would perhaps have a moat. Mist that coils all around the property, and yet the House shows clear images of the neighbourhood in a looking glass as if magicked there in some way.

  I have never seen anything like it, and for the first time in what feels like a long time, I feel hope. I feel truly safe.

  “There is no way they can break through these defences,” Gaspard says when we gather for a strategy meeting.

  “I had no idea things like this even existed,” Yvette says.

  “If the elders had lived in a house like this, they would have been unstoppable,” Suzette quietly says.

  I want to join in with their excitement, but I can’t help remembering what Gregor told me.

  The House is only as powerful as its bond-mate, and I am an unjoined, immature Nosferatin.

  The House’s protections are formidable.

  But how well will they work with me as its bond-mate?

  * * *

  They come that night. I watch them as they creep through the shadows of the surrounding buildings on the looking glass the House displays for me. They do not know they are being watched; how could they? This ability is far from anything I have seen before, and yet this House is ancient.

  They wear all black. Long cloaks with deep hoods that hide their faces. It also hides the glow of their eyes as their hunger rises.

  A vampire on the hunt is a chilling thing to see. A vampire addicted to its prey is frightening.

  The House shudders in agreement. It can sense their hunger, their inability to fight it. Their desire for Nosferatin blood controls them; they do not control it. They have left a bloody trail across Europe, hunting one nest of Nosferatin after another.

  The Iunctio must be aware of them. Something of this scale could not have missed being spoken off in that preternatural way. But perhaps because the Nosferatin have been in hiding for so long now and kept their power from the Iunctio in such desperate ways, the Champion did not see fit to aid us.

  I wonder, then, if the reason she lets us stay in Paris is a form of apology. Or the fact that Michel and Gregor have helped us is the Iunctio’s way to save face.

  There are questions I may never get the answers to. It doesn’t matter. Michel and Gregor have helped us, even if they are not here to fight at our sides today. They brought us to safety. They have given us tools. In Gregor’s case, he has offered his heart to keep us safe.

  Whether the House can do that — keep us safe — with me as its bond-mate will be telling.

  Pierre and Fabienne have been locked away in a safe room in the basement of the building. If everything fails, if the worst comes to pass, the House will help them escape via a passageway that will not be opened until the moment it is needed. Gaspard and Yvette, still not yet past their first decade, man the House’s armaments from the attic. I am sure the House could arm them itself, but it has provided as safe a place for the young Nosferatins to participate in the upcoming battle from as it could manage.

  I am thankful.

  The House understands their need to be part of this as do I.

  And as do I, it worries.

  Suzette stands beside me, watching the shadows shift in the looking glass. The Evil Ones creep closer and closer. They have followed our scent to this street, but the House is hidden from them. I see the confusion and anger on what little I can discern of their faces.

  The one who approached me in the city centre steps out of the mist and shadows and stares directly at the House — or where the House should be if he could see it. I do not know this vampire. I have not met him personally. I cannot even recognise him from our mad flight from Ventimiglia. But I know — I know — he is responsible for killing my family. If not by his hands, then by his command.

  “He’s mine,” I say.

  “Do not narrow your gaze, Nosferatin,” Suzette remonstrates.

  “I see clearly,” I tell her. “But that one…” — I point at the Evil One who directs the chase — “…is mine and no other’s.”

  She nods, her eyes still on the looking glass and the vampire as it approaches.

  One step more and Gaspard can light a bucket
of tar and drop it on the vampire’s face.

  The House moans a mournful sound that somehow conveys a readiness that makes me grip my stake. Suzette sucks in a breath of air in preparation. Any moment now.

  And then the vampire strikes.

  He cannot see the House, but he knows it is there. He also seems to know what sort of protections it has because he dodges the flaming tar, twists aside as a silver-tipped arrow is fired at his chest, and leaps the brick wall as if it isn’t even there.

  In seconds, he is on the House’s grounds. Behind the wards. I am shocked — stunned silent.

  “He’s done that before,” Suzette says.

  He’s attacked Nosferatin Houses before. She is right.

  Suzette flips her stake in her hand and looks at me; waiting for direction.

  For a moment, I say nothing. A part of me is filled with such fear and uncertainty; it silences me.

  And then I remember my training.

  “He’s alone,” I say. “The others have not yet followed. He must have to let them in; they cannot breach the wards as he has.”

  Relief is an all too brief expression on Suzette’s face.

  “I need you to monitor the looking glass,” I say. “If he succeeds and they enter the House’s boundaries, set the night ablaze.”

  “And you?”

  “I’m going to stop him. This ends here.”

  Suzette looks like she wants to say more. Instead, she lifts her chin, stares me hard in the eye, and then kisses me soundly on the lips.

  I stumble. She shoves me toward the window. And then I am on the sill, crouched and watching, the House showing me the way.

  I spin through the air and land on sure feet in the centre of the grassed area in the garden. The vampire slinks out of the shadows and grins at me. I see his fangs. I see the red glow of his eyes. His Sanguis Vitam pricks against my sweat-dampened skin. The Pull ignites.