Death of Night

by Krissy Reynolds

  "Superman? I'm flattered," he said, eyes going down to the hand I had just raised.

  "I guess vampire makes more sense." The words sounded unreal coming from my mouth.

  A pause, and I asked, "What happened tonight, Mr. Knightley?"

  He stood up in a flash. He ran a hand through his long, black hair in a subconscious gesture. "I need to get you home," he said.

  "But--" I protested.

  "I'll explain it to you when you're out of here," he promised. He held out his hand again. My eyes dropped to it. "Come."

  I sighed, resigned. I slid my warm hand into his cool one, and we walked out of the room number three together. We walked past the giant oak in the parking lot, past the dented Chevy, past the flashing neon sign.

  The rain had stopped falling from the sky, but the wind still blew with chilling gusts. I hunched into the leather jacket.

  The main road was empty, motionless. This time of night was when the cars were tucked in their driveways and people tucked safely in their beds. Callum led me to the bus stop. I scowled when he dropped my hand and leaned against the lamppost.

  "You can fly, but we have to take the bus back to San Francisco?" I said.

  He looked at me, surprised. "I don't think you're ready to fly. I'm still waiting for you to turn and run."

  I scuffed my foot on the gravel underneath it. I saw his feet walked towards me.

  "But I promise to take you sometime." He sounded delighted.

  I raised my head and gave him a small smile. He smiled back, and the dimple popped up again. I smiled wider.

  "What?" he asked.

  I shook my head. "Nothing."

  The distant rumbling sound of an old engine came from down the road. There, on the dark horizon, was a bus making its way towards us. It squeaked to a halt at the bus stop, and its door hissed open. The dim light above the driver's head flickered with age.

  "Where to?" the woman at the wheel asked, staring at us with narrowed eyes. Her frizzy red hair was loose around her shoulders, and a cigarette hung out of her mouth.

  Callum stepped up after me. "San Francisco."

  The driver grunted. "Better get comfortable. It's gonna be a long ride."

  * * *

  The bus jolted, making me sway forward and back. It went over potholes and bumps every five minutes or so, and I couldn't sleep when I was being thrown around in my seat. I was sitting with my back against the window, my feet stretched out in front of me on the seat.

  I glanced sideways at Callum, sitting in the seat behind mine. He was gazing out of the fogged window, preoccupied with his thoughts. He had been sitting there, unmoving, for the past hour and a half, after I'd asked him why he was here with me. I was thankful, don't get me wrong, but I had millions of questions burning in my head. What was a vampire? Where do they sleep? What do they eat? Are they dead?

  Laughter bubbled out of my mouth unexpectedly. I clamped a hand to my mouth, but it spilled over, ringing over the motor of the bus. The bus driver looked at me caustically in the rearview mirror as she reached down and grabbed another cigarette. Callum's head turned away from the window to look at me.

  "Why are you laughing?" he asked, puzzled.

  At his questioning look, I laughed, "Because I'm on a bus with a vampire."

  His face flickered with a shade of worry. "I knew this would happen."

  I knew my face must be turning tomato-red as I continued to laugh. That's what happened when you're of Irish descent. I buried my head in my hands.

  "What?" I asked, my voice muffled by my fingers.

  "You're going into shock."

  "No, I'm not," I protested. I didn't think I was. I just had a weird sense of humour.

  "It was bound to happen soon," he said gently.

  I calmed and brought my head up. "I'm fine."

  Callum's dark eyebrows rose skeptically. "No, you're not."

  "I'll deal," I said softly, all traces of laughter gone. "I always deal."

  Callum said nothing. He looked out of the window again, not actually seeing the blur of cities passing.

  "It really makes me wonder, though," I smiled, but not amused in the least. "It really makes me wonder why some things happen when they do."

  I looked at him. The streetlights flashed over his face, making his pale skin bright yellow and orange colours. His angular features were revealed with each flare of light. His expression showed a deep tragedy, and my heart ached for him.

  "I ask myself that question everyday," he murmured under his breath.

  "Can I ask you something?" I said slowly.

  Green eyes met mine. "Yes."

  I took a breath. "You're different, aren't you?"

  Callum's face closed down, and I struggled with more words. "I mean, you're not like Damien and the rest of them. They were, well, they were scared of you."

  Callum pressed his lips together. "I'm not like them. I never was," he answered. "I have certain…abilities…that they don't have."

  His eyes probed mine to judge my reaction. He sighed, and continued. "Most young vampires are purely animalistic. They want blood, they get blood. They get angry, they kill. No conscience, no morals, no sense of right or wrong. As they grow older, they can control themselves better. They develop their powers over time, and become gradually more and more powerful."

  I nodded, absorbing his words one by one.

  "Despite being ruthless and untamed on the outside, we do have a hierarchy. There are the master vampires at the top, the oldest and most powerful. They exert power over the rest, who act as mere servants. They don't keep a tight leash on them, so they are relatively free unless they are called to do a master vampire's bidding."

  The bus lurched to a stop, and the doors opened. I watched as an older couple came aboard. The man had graying hair and a beer belly, but the woman looked polished and lavishly dressed. They nodded in our direction before they sat down behind the bus driver's leather chair.

  I looked back behind me at Callum. He was gazing at the couple warily with narrowed eyes.

  "And where do you fit in?" I asked in a hushed voice.

  He jerked his eyes back to me. "Like I said, I'm not like most vampires. When I was sired," I must have had a confused look on my face because he reiterated, "When I was made, something unusual happened. No one knows to this day."

  He leaned back as if he was done talking.

  "What do you mean?" I asked.

  Callum gave me an exasperated look. "I was given powers that only a handful of the oldest master vampires have."

  "Oh," I said. "Is that why Damien is scared of you?"

  "Damien is an ass. He thought so highly of himself that he stood against me. When he saw what I could do, he ran."

  "Is he a master vampire?" I asked quietly.

  Callum chuckled. "Hardly."

  "Are you?"

  He sobered in half a second. "I'm the youngest master vampire in the hierarchy. I--" he paused. "I didn't want to be, but everyone insisted, including my sire. I can't disobey my sire. They said I had the potential to be greater than all, despite my age."

  "Why?" I felt like an idiot with these questions.

  "Well, if I'm this powerful now, what would I be like in another hundred years time?"

  I stared at him. "Another hundred years?" I repeated.

  Callum looked apologetic. "Yes."

  "How old," I took a deep breath. "How old are you?"

  "That's not important."

  "How old are you?" I said again.

  "Twenty-eight."

  I exhaled noisily. "But how long have you been twenty-eight?"

  Callum looked torn. "It's not important."

  "How old?" I said louder.

  "I don't want to frighten you," he said tightly. "I'm relatively young for my kind, but it may be shocking to a human."

  "Just tell me," I breathed.

  Callum looked away. "I'm about to celebrate my two-hundred and ninety-ninth birthday."

  My breathin
g stopped for a full minute. "You're nearly three hundred years old," I stated vacantly.

  "Yes."

  "Are you dead?" I asked bluntly.

  Callum's perfect lips lifted slightly. "Of course. Have you ever heard of a three-hundred year old living person?"

  I shook my head, though I know he meant it as a joke. I twisted my hands nervously in my lap. "Is that why you're cold?"

  "Yes," he answered softly.

  My voice shook. "Does your heart beat?"

  With impossible speed, Callum's hand reached over the bench seat and took my hand. He pressed my fingers to his hard chest. I felt nothing, no heartbeat, no breathing. He drew my hand away and entwined his fingers in mine. I tried to pull away, but he just set my hand back in my lap along with his, and laid his arm over the back of the seat. He set his chin down on it, and looked at me intently.

  "Are you okay?" he asked.

  "Yeah," I replied weakly.

  The smell of cigarette smoke wafted toward us. I looked at the front of the bus to see the driver sucking down another one. She met my eyes in the mirror, and gave me a venomous glare.

  The bus braked and stopped at a well-lit bus station. A young, burly man stepped up. He looked around, saw Callum and me, and grinned. He pushed his way through the seats, and sat down across from me. I pulled my hand from Callum's and swept my gaze over him. He looked like a bodybuilder, gleaming bald head and rippling muscles under his thin shirt.

  "Haven't seen you around these parts before," he said in a gruff voice.

  I raised my eyebrows. "That's because I'm not from around these parts."

  "Where're you from, then?" he asked.

  I was not in the mood for chit-chat. I had more pressing matters to deal with. "France," I said tiredly.

  He grinned at me with large, blocky teeth. "You don't sound French."

  "Yeah, well, I'm just good at hiding my accent," I said, looking out the window behind him. It had started to drizzle again.

  The man laughed hoarsely. "Come on, where're you really from?"

  "Germany."

  He chuckled, and said, "Oh, now, you're just a little bundle of fire, aren't ya?"

  I grimaced at him.

  "Lemme buy you a drink," the man said. "I know a great place in the next town over."

  "No, thanks," I replied, and looked away from him.

  He smoothed down his shirt. "God, look at me. I'm asking you out and you don't even know my name." He stuck out a large hand. "The name's Buster."

  It was my turn to laugh. "Buster?"

  "Yep. My buddies are jealous of my name."

  "I'll bet they are." I ignored his hand that was held in front of me.

  He dropped his hand, and asked, "What's your name?"

  "It's none of your business," I replied.

  The man chortled, "Oh, come on. Don't be like that, babe."

  I slid forward, closer to him. I felt Callum tense in the seat behind me. "Babe?" I repeated, gritting my teeth.

  "Like that, do ya?" he laughed. His breath blew against my face, smelling faintly of alcohol.

  I leaned over further, my jaw clenched. "Do I look like I like it?"

  Buster leaned back, his roguish smile fading fast. "Your eyes--" he began, staring at me with an incredulous expression.

  "What about them?" I asked in a low voice.

  "They're getting all, all dark," he stammered out.

  The unfamiliar power had begun to rise in me again. Surging through my veins, taking over my senses.

  A hand touched my shoulder. I turned. Callum's face dropped all emotion when he met my eyes. He muttered something in a different language, and then said in clear English, "Dahlia."

  His voice brought me back. The power receded, dying completely when I concentrated on his beautiful emerald eyes.

  I barely noticed when the bus stopped again. Buster scrambled out of his seat, looking over his shoulder as he walked down the aisle. He stepped off. The bus started to move again, and I saw Buster's shocked face go by. I slumped back against the window, and brought my knees up to my chin.

  "What just happened, Callum?" I breathed, laying my head on my knees and facing him.

  "You just took a step closer to who you really are," he said softly.

  I scowled. "And who am I, really?"

  His answer was a small whisper. "The Letalis Flora."

  My head popped up. "What?"

  "The Letalis Flora. It's Latin for 'the deadly flower'. It's the reason why the vampires want to kill you," Callum said gently.

  "What is it?" I asked, breathless.

  "It's an ancient prophecy. According to legend, it's you."

  I didn't say a word. I couldn't.

  "You feel it, don't you?" he said. "You feel it in you?"

  I closed my eyes and nodded. "I don't understand."

  I heard Callum sigh. "I know you don't. I was hoping you wouldn't ever have to, but I see now. I see that that's not possible."

  I opened my eyes and looked at him with wide eyes. "I heard Damien and the rest of them say something about it. Something about me being dangerous, about them having to choose a side?"

  "Yes. Yes, they were right." He came closer, voice low. "This may sound ridiculous, but just listen. It has been foretold that the Letalis Flora will be the death of vampires. There isn't much else in the prophecy, except that the Flora will yield great power that is unbeknownst to her."

  I gulped. "And this…Flora…is supposed to be me?"

  "It is. You are 'the deadly flower'."

  "Right," I said dismissively. "And the vampires have to choose a side?"

  "Yes. To kill you or turn you," Callum answered wryly.

  "Turn?"

  "Make you one of us."

  I cleared my throat uncomfortably. "Why would they do that?"

  Callum ran his hand through his black waves. "They believe the power you have now will stay with you. Then they can use you as a weapon against rivals. Secure your powers for their own personal gain."

  "Oh," I said. "What are these powers I have?"

  His face lit up with a dull red colour as the bus passed a gas station. "You know better than I."

  I shrugged. "I think I made lightning come down and strike Camille and Thanes," I suddenly laughed at the very thought of doing something so absurd. "And I think I burned Damien. And I threw Dario off of me without even knowing it. And I made Rhiannon fly back about ten feet."

  Callum's face was empty. "And you made Camille bleed."

  Confused, I said, "So?"

  "Only vampires can make vampires bleed," he explained.

  "Oh," I said again. I set my head on my knees again.

  The rumble of the old bus and the soft conversing of the couple up front was all I heard as I stewed in my own thoughts. The bus hit a pothole and I swayed to the side.

  Soft as velvet, Callum said, "Dahlia? Are you all right?"

  "God. I'm some sort of a freak, aren't I?" I mumbled.

  "No."

  I looked up wildly. "How can you say that?"

  "Because you're not."

  I scoffed.

  "Don't be ashamed of what you are, Dahlia," Callum said sternly. "It's not your fault, and you can't change it."

  I was so overwhelmed. Tears threatened to spill. I hated to cry. It made my eyes red and my cheeks blotchy.

  "Hey," said his sweet voice. "Who wants to be ordinary, right?"

  I choked out a weak laugh. "Yeah, I guess."

  Callum smiled reassuringly. I don't think he knew how beautiful he looks when he smiled. It reached his eyes, making them twinkle, even in the dark. It made time freeze, like he was smiling at me for eternity.

  I gave myself a mental shake. I couldn't afford to think like this. He wasn't even human. I guess I hardly was either.

  Chapter 8

  * * *

  The bus squealed to a stop. My eyes flew open, and I looked around, disoriented. I didn't even remember falling asleep.

  "San Francisco," the
bus driver said loudly.

  I sat up straight, and looked for Callum. He sat in his seat, looking at me with an amused glint in his eye. My hand went automatically to my hair that was still damp from the shower. I flattened it, and then dropped my hand when he shook his head.

  "What?" I asked.

  His dimple became visible. "You laugh in your sleep."

  My mouth dropped open. A friend had once told me the same thing, but I refused to believe it. "No, I don't."

  Callum laughed lightly.

  The red-haired woman at the steering wheel said more heatedly, "San Francisco."

  She just as well should have said, "Get the hell off my bus."

  Callum stood in one supple movement. I stumbled as I found my feet. I rubbed my eyes, and then made my way to the front. Callum followed me silently, his shoes not making a sound. We hopped off the bus just in time. The driver had pressed the button to close the doors when we were still inside. She gave me one last glare and drove off.

  "What's her problem?" I muttered so quietly I thought only I could hear.

  "Maybe she's not a morning person," Callum said.

  "How did you hear that?" I asked in amazement.

  He tapped his right ear and replied, "Superman hearing, remember?"

  I smiled. "Oh, yeah."

  The ground we began walking on was strewn with puddles. We were deep in the middle of San Francisco. Cars were driven up onto the sidewalks, and groups of people passed us, laughing and having a good time. We passed smoky bars full of people celebrating the weekend, and restaurants sweeping up after their last customers.

  "Do you know what time it is?" I asked.

  Callum stopped and tilted his face into the soft falling rain. He breathed in deep, and said, "Three thirty-five."

  He looked down at me. My mouth was gaping open, and I shut it. "You can just tell?"

  "I can smell the sun rising."

  "Right," I rushed to say. "That makes sense. You can't be in the sun, can you? What's it do to you? Does it make you burn, or—"

  One cool finger on my lips silenced me. I looked up at Callum. He looked amused again. The rain soaked into his black curls, framing his face. He had those rings around his eyes that made him look otherworldly, ethereal. He radiated danger, a seductive threat to the world. He could kill me right here, but all I could do was marvel at his heart stopping beauty.