by R. A. Nelson
“But I saw what you did on the Blood Hunt,” I said. “It was all so … different … from what I experienced. You care about the people you … drink from.” I looked at Lena again.
“So … are you … both?”
“I was Verloren for a long time, Emma,” Lena said, sounding tired. “It was the only way I knew. The only way I could survive.”
“Did you … did you kill people?”
“Yes. Yes, I did. It is no excuse, truly, but I was … so broken. I felt I had been betrayed by the God I had grown up worshipping. First Pastor Orton, then the way He took Valentin away from me. The only happiness I had ever known. I was angry at the world. Most of all, I was angry at the world of men. It was their fault entirely, the sufferings of humanity. I felt justified. No, I felt … righteous.
“I became almost like a … demon. There were stories told about me. There may be stories still, I don’t know. I was called the Gray Lady. I was brutal, did not care whom I hurt or how. Then one night I barged through the doors of a church.… I do not even remember what kind of church it was. I was voracious, blood-driven. I only cared that there was someone inside, someone warm, whom I could … take.
“There was a man there.… He was … very young. He was kneeling in the front of the sanctuary, his hat placed beside his feet. His clothes were tattered and shabby. His back was to me. He had no chance. I flew to him the way a storm would fly across a continent.…
“Just as I was about to descend upon the man … I saw he was kneeling over a child in a small white casket. A little girl, perhaps about four years old. I had landed so lightly, I do not believe he ever knew I was there. I backed away from him and the dead child. Backed all the way out into the street. I flung myself down upon the steps and wept bitterly over what I had become.
“I wanted it all to be over. I waited for the sun, but when it came, I did not have the courage. I hid myself in the basement of a nearby home. An elderly woman lived there all alone. I could have taken her anytime I wanted. But I learned that I could fight against the hunger. One night the hunger was so strong, I fled into the darkness. I found shelter where I could, taking as little blood as possible from the people I encountered. Still, I felt I was an abomination.
“I could no longer tolerate what I had become; I was desperate to somehow make amends. By chance I traveled into Washington, D.C., where there was a great need of nurses due to the war. I had no training, but they were short-staffed and required none. And so I became a night nurse in a war hospital.
“I was given the most repugnant tasks, owing to my lack of experience. My ward had eighty beds. The stench, in particular to my vampire senses, was unimaginable. I steeled myself each night by sprinkling my clothes liberally with lavender water. But do you know what frightened me the most, Emma? Attending those poor men, fresh from battle, with wounds so grievous, they spouted blood. My blasphemous hunger would become so intense at such moments, I thought I might be driven mad with shame at my ravenous desire. And yet, even as I fought to gain control over my cursed appetite, the struggle made me feel … better about myself. That I was not only becoming stronger in my willpower, but also somehow helping. I could feed them, bathe them, provide comfort, even attend amputations without being overcome.
“Then one night I was attending a dying man who had been grievously wounded at the Battle of Fredericksburg, and it came to me … I could become an engine of release for men who were suffering terribly. As he sank in and out of consciousness, I sang softly to him for a time, then fastened my lips to his throat and drank deeply to the last poundings of his heart.
“I am ashamed to admit the satisfaction this gave me, both physical and spiritual. I served in that hospital for the remainder of the war. I have no idea how many poor suffering men I helped spirit away while slaking my thirst. It was more than a way to survive. As odd as it sounds, it was a way to remain … human.”
Lena put her arms behind her, leaning back against the wall.
“After the war, I stayed on as long as I could. But soon even the positions for night nurses became scarce, and I was forced to move on, because they wanted me to work daylight hours. I was so afraid the madness of my former time would return.… Then I heard the first inklings of the Sonnen, and I recalled the way I had been able to resist my hunger before coming to the hospital. I joined them and began fasting, and I have been with them to this day,” she said.
My head was spinning with questions. Washington, D.C., during the Civil War? I had to ask.
“Did you ever see him?”
“Him?”
“You know … the president?”
“Oh.” Lena smiled. “Yes, I saw him. Once, that was all. One night he made a tour of inspection of our hospital ward to cheer the troops, and I was there.”
“You saw him. You saw Abraham Lincoln.”
“Better than that … I spoke with him. The president touched my arm.…”
“Oh. My. God. What was he like?”
“Emma, he was a man. To me he was a man. Not the statues you see. He had the saddest, most serious face … but when one of the men made him laugh, telling him a joke about a Johnny Reb who was half mule, he was so different … so alive.
“He was wearing a black coat and a dark blue bow tie. His eyes were light gray. His face was creased, hair mostly dark, but peppery with gray; I remember wishing I could take a comb to it. His voice was slightly high-pitched for so tall a man. He was thin, but gave a sense of great physical power. His fingers were so long … when he touched me … I …”
She stopped and her gaze wandered over the Stone House Hotel, then out at the darkened horizon of the valley below.
“You know, I could have turned him, Emma. I do not like to think about it, but I could have. It was a possibility. Just think of that … he could still be with us today. That haunts me, I must admit.”
I was pretty much stunned into silence now. I just sat and looked at her and soaked it all in. I was thinking about the things she must have done, all those years … and what it all meant for me. That I could be sitting in this very same spot a hundred years from now … two hundred … and not be a day over seventeen. Ever.
It was too much to take in. Especially at night. Especially after talking to Papi. What would I remember about him a hundred years from now? Or Manda? Would I even remember her face? Mom’s? I struggled not to cry. My mood must have been catching. I had never heard the three vampires so quiet.
“Can I ask you something?” I said finally. “All of you?”
“Of course,” Anton said, leaning back.
“Living … so long … you must have learned a lot of things? Had a ton of experiences?”
Donne snorted. “That’s what you would think, wouldn’t you? Being the freshest Fresh I ever saw.”
I bristled a little. “I don’t know what I think. It just seems Like …”
Lena waved her hand as if trying to get us to chill. “What Donne means to say is that so much of the knowledge we acquire ends up being useless, out of date, as time marches on,” she said. “Imagine a college degree acquired in 1891 or even 1932; how useful would that be in the twenty-first century?”
“But the biggest thing is, you get sick of it,” Donne said.
“Sick of what?” I said.
“People. Sick of being around people. Sick of working so hard to still be associated with them, still be a part of what they are. Human. Trying to hang on to the old life …”
“She is right; it’s too much trouble,” Anton agreed, lacing his arm around her waist. “All the hiding, lies, the close calls. And everything, everything has to be done in the dark. How many great experiences happen after dark? Truly?” He laughed again, and this time Donne punched his arm.
“But it is more than that,” Lena said. “We do not have much contact with people. Hardly any, actually. It is … uncomfortable … if you have any kind of conscience at all. That is one of the great sacrifices forced upon us. We are quite limited in
our experiences because we are limited in our relationships. Can you imagine spending a great deal of time with beings who are destined to become … your food?”
My scalp prickled. I felt so comfortable with them now, but every once in a while a shocking wall popped up between us. A wall that always reminded me that no matter how close we became as friends, they were trapped in a place where I could never go. I would never have to feed on anyone to live.
“And now … is there something you would like to share with us?” Lena said, breaking me out of my reverie. “We are so … curious.”
I knew what she meant. I was holding back the story of my own transformation. Everything about Wirtz. My epilepsy. The Call.
“I … I want to tell you,” I said. “You have all been so up-front with me. And I will. I promise. I just need … a little more time, okay?”
Donne started to say something, but Lena cut her off by lifting her hand.
“We understand,” Lena said. “Speaking of such a horror when it is still so fresh and new is … trying. Take all the time you need.”
I needed more than time. I needed a way to tell them what I was—a half-vampire human girl who was drawing a monster closer and closer to us all.
* * *
I woke up late the next morning feeling down. Today was Monday. Sagan had classes all week, but his schedule was especially full on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. It seemed like an eternity before I would see him again. Before the night would come.
Funny, I had never been a night person … now I couldn’t wait for darkness to fall. Was I becoming something … different?
I took out the pocket watch he had given me. First block, English with Ms. Rose. That’s where I should be right now. We were reading a book I couldn’t stand, only now I might never know how it came out. Because I would never choose to read a book like that for myself.
After that, Chem II with its smells and sinks and test tubes. Then the project I was working on in history with my group. I didn’t particularly like any of the kids, but we had been just that … a group. Algebra II. Whatever they learned this afternoon would be forever missing from my brain.
What if I never could go back? If I had to live like this basically … forever?
I would never find out my final averages in anything. Never attend another stupid pep rally. No more homecoming chatter, no brawny football guys beating some old junker to pieces with sledgehammers in front of a bonfire. No lunch line. People banging into you at the lockers. Guys saying crap about my boobs.
I had always felt so disconnected from school. So why was the loss of it bothering me now? There was nothing to stop me from learning on my own … but even more than I hated school, I hated the idea of not finishing. All that work. My hand cramping from taking notes. All the reading and projects and lugging sixty pounds of books through crowded halls. All of it cut off and done just like that.
I couldn’t believe I was missing it. It’s funny how when you get outside of something you hated, the hate isn’t so strong anymore. There’s a flip side, but it’s not love, it’s … the sense of being part of something, whether you wanted to or not.
I wondered if I had officially become the Lost Girl at school. Soon to be immortalized in a black-and-white photo—signifying death—hanging somewhere horrible like the cafeteria or the gym or the principal’s office. Kids years from now would see my face and wonder who that sad, angry chick was. And somebody would say, oh, she’s this weird girl that went missing years ago and they never found her. How’s that for a memorial?
It made me sad in a way that I had never felt sad before.
I had to do something physical. I pulled on my trail shoes and ran into town. Cruised by the local high school just for the vibe. It turned out to be acres and acres of two-story, flat brown buildings made of blocks the size of washing machines. It looked like a fortress. Maybe that’s what schools were expecting these days, an attack.
There were girls on the soccer field. They were okay, but looked as if they were only half trying. I wanted to be out there so bad, showing them how to really pound in a shot. Rush a defender.
Why not?
I jumped the short fence and raced onto the soccer field. I was wearing my jeans, but so what? Before I had even registered on their consciousness, I stole the next lazy pass setting up a shot, and then I was off, weaving my way around the girls, moving in and out as easily as if they were running in wet cement.
“Hey!” one of the girls yelled.
I knew girls like her. Tall and lanky, the kind that lulled you to sleep. Then, when you got too close, they would uncoil a leg like a bazooka, and your stomach or chest or—worst of all—your face would get whacked so hard, it took a little while for the pain to even start.
The tall girl took up the chase, screaming at the others to follow.
“Come on, get her!”
Pretty soon I had half the team rushing at me from all sides. I moved with the ball in a way that was downright supernatural, dipping this way to duck one defender, swinging wide past three more, playing with them, really. Until I had the whole team and even the coaches—squatty ex-college soccer-type guys with legs like fire hydrants—all converging on me at midfield, screaming and cursing.
I barreled right through them, got my sights on the goal, swung my leg and bent the kick so hard, the keeper wound up horizontal in midair trying to stop it. Too late. It was in the net and I had jumped the fence again and was gone.
I wanted to die. I really did. Because it was over. Nothing was ever going to get that feeling back for me. Even if I killed Wirtz, went home, started going to school again—the thing I was best at, my greatest passion, something that meant everything to me personally—was done. Forever.
When I had first begun to understand my powers, I had thought I was a god. But now I knew the truth. I had lost everything, not because I was a god, but because I was a freak. And who wants to hang out with a freak except another freak? I was even more isolated than the Sonnen vampires. I was caught between two worlds, a foot in both, but all of me in neither.
I had never felt so lonely.
In the middle of the afternoon I ate pizza someone had left on a table in a mini-mall. I certainly was getting my quota of cheese these days. A girl came by wiping up, giving me a funny look, but she didn’t say anything. I chewed a slice of lukewarm pepperoni and tried to imagine a life beyond hiding. Maybe I could convince Sagan to come with me. We’d go somewhere I’d always dreamed of going. Europe. South America. Some island. I would have to keep things secret as long as I could. If other vampires—if Verloren—ever found out about my special powers, would I be safe anywhere?
I daydreamed about a place where I could live with Sagan that was cool and wooded and kind of unpopulated … like Prince Edward Island. Wasn’t that where Anne of Green Gables was from? But maybe it was overrun with tourists these days. Okay, my own island off the coast of Maine. We wouldn’t need a big house, just a tiny cottage. I bet a vampire could sling together a cabin in no time. But then Sagan would have to know. But he’d have to know sooner or later anyhow. Surely he would start wondering why I never aged.
I tried to imagine a life like the Sonnen had been leading for centuries. Hiding, stealing, taking blood drop by drop from strangers. I wanted so much to help them. I wanted Sagan to help. But how could I ever tell him what I was?
Maybe the Sonnen could come and visit us up there? Sure, and we could all chop wood and skin rabbits and wait for the Cure. Shut up.
Late in the afternoon, my headset shrieked, shaking me out of my doldrums. It was still too early for Sagan, but I flicked it on delightedly.
“I’m skipping work tonight,” he said. “Meet me at the observatory at six o’clock. I’ve got something planned.”
I spent a good long while getting ready, then it seemed as if six would never get there. As much as I wanted to run, I forced myself to stroll to the observatory so I would stay as neat and clean as possible. It was exc
iting, wondering what in the world he had in mind.
My heart was beating outside my chest when I saw his Jeep swinging up the long drive.
“Get in,” Sagan said, kissing my cheek and holding the door open for me.
We got out on the main road and headed north. I wished the seats were closer together.
“Isn’t this the way to the gate?” I said.
“Yep.”
“Sagan … I don’t get it. Where are you taking me?”
“It’s a surprise.”
My heart thumped. “Wait a minute … not more family stuff? Do I look okay?”
He laughed. “When do you ever not look okay? You look incredible. No, nothing like that. You’re safe.”
“Then what—”
“I told you, it’s a surprise.”
We left the interstate and then made several long slow turns. After several minutes the Jeep rolled to a stop in a broad parking lot and Sagan pulled up the hand brake.
The first thing I saw was a cobblestone canyon flanked by fancy shops and restaurants. Banana Republic. A Mac store. P.F. Chang’s, the Chocolate Crocodile. And right in front of us, a huge Barnes & Noble.
People were milling all over, some in shorts and casual stuff, others with more formal wear. It felt strange after all my isolation, almost claustrophobic, dodging in and out of the crowd.
“So where are we …?” I started.
“It’s a date,” Sagan said. “It’s called a date.”
* * *
We headed down the cobblestone canyon. I was nearly dizzy by the time he pulled me through some big glass doors.
The noise instantly changed to a gentle indoor babble. The odor of cooking wafted deliciously beneath my nose.
“Food!” I said, mouth watering. Somewhere a steak was being grilled. I could hear the meat sizzling in a way that I had never heard it before.… The sound of a waterfall couldn’t have been more beautiful.
“This is my family’s favorite place,” Sagan said, shaking out his cloth napkin after they seated us.