by Clare Daly
21
If Evelyn had any doubts as to how Ms. Rosev felt about her spending time under the tutorship of their master, she only had to look at her face. When she would find them sitting at his desk, books piled high, her eyes would narrow, her lips a hard, thin line across her face. The master never looked away from Evelyn or his text, seeing her interruption for the unwelcome distraction it was. Even as Ms. Rosev stood before them and requested more staff, given that Evelyn’s time was being taken up with her ‘studies’, the master barely registered her.
‘Do as you see fit for the household, Ms. Rosev,’ he’d said.
But Evelyn knew she had no intention of hiring another girl, instead making her rise earlier and work later into the evening. It was worth it though. She loved every moment she spent in that room and the extra work was a small price to pay for something which gave her so much joy. The master was a great teacher, his own passion for learning contagious. It was an unusual arrangement but it was working, for everyone except Ms. Rosev.
And Michael was happy too. He had been elevated beyond his own position, running errands for Mr. Baker directly. Their master had a brother, Alexander, that he never mentioned, but then he never spoke of family or his homeland. No portraits hung of beloved family members, no mementoes that he spoke proudly of. Everything Vladimir loved was in that room and that was it. Now that preparations were being made for a reunion, she was excited for him, that he should find a connection again with his family. He had to be lonely, living here by himself all these years.
That evening, as she knelt in the hall, scrubbing the skirting boards on Ms. Rosev’s orders, she heard the master’s voice beckon her to the study. She dried her hands in her apron, his voice a pleasing sound to her – perhaps another opportunity to learn from his books.
‘Evelyn, there you are,’ he said, his expression brightening as she entered. ‘As you know, there is a gathering of sorts planned this Friday. I should like you to attend as my guest. Ms. Rosev will give you a clothing allowance. Buy yourself a dress befitting the occasion.’
‘I’m not sure I understand Sir.’
‘Think of it as a study Evelyn, but this time our subjects are living, breathing ones.’
***
The day before the reunion, Evelyn hurried down Fifth Avenue as the winter’s afternoon fell to night. The boxes were heavy in her arms. She held another on her shoulder, a hatbox on a pink ribbon. Inside was the most elegant headpiece, a mix of beads and peacock eye feathers, inset with a stunning blue opal that would sit beautifully in her dark hair. The master had given detailed instructions to Ms. Rosev on how he wanted her to look. Perhaps he doubted her own sense of finesse given her background, but he’d even gone so far as to have the housekeeper make an appointment at the boutique of Francisco Barossa, the most sought-after dressmaker in Manhattan. She had spent the afternoon there, as he altered a dress for her. He had pulled the corset so tight she fought to breathe, the lack of air making her swoon as she looked at her reflection. She barely recognised the young woman looking back at her but in there, was a woman she wanted to be. Strong, powerful, desirable.
Is that what Vladimir wanted? Was he interested in her romantically? The idea was absurd and then she remembered the glare from Ms. Rosev. She knew it. Knew the path the master was taking with her. Surely not. She was a million miles away when she collided with a man walking towards her. His broad shoulder hit hers, knocking her balance and sending the boxes up in the air. They fell to the pavement as the man grabbed her arm, steadying her, before she followed them to the ground.
‘Are you okay?’ he said releasing her.
‘Yes. Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going,’ she said bending down to pick everything up.
‘With all these boxes, it’s a wonder you can see at all,’ he said smiling. ‘Please let me help you.’
He handed her the lid of the hatbox as people stepped around them on the path. His voice was accented but she couldn’t tell from where. It was soft and smooth, each word hypnotic. Handsome. The word forced its way into her mind. She almost spoke it and she pursed her lips, should it escape without her consent. He was like a prince from some old fairy tale. His elegant Homburg hat, his fair hair long beneath it, touching the collar of his wool coat. His eyes had a welcome familiarity to them, something she couldn’t quite place and when he smiled at her, she held her breath for fear of showing signs of affectation. He gathered up the boxes, letting her see to the undergarments that had strewn from one of them. Embarrassed she grabbed them, shoving them back inside.
‘Please let me carry these for you. It’s the least I can do,’ he said.
‘I haven’t far to walk,’ she hesitated, ‘but yes, thank you… I would like that, I mean appreciate that.’ She blushed and he smiled, his eyes meeting hers.
‘My name is Sasha,’ he said offering a gloved hand from under the boxes.
‘Evelyn,’ she said. She felt a charge when her hand touched his, an energy pass between them.
‘You’re not from here,’ he said.
‘No, but I live here now.’
‘Is this city not a crossroads of the world?’ he said as they walked on. ‘It’s like the earth were a sheet of paper with the corners drawn up, sending us sliding neatly into this one place. Do you like it?’
‘Very much,’ she said. ‘I have more now than I’ve ever had.’
‘And yet it makes you sad.’
‘I lost a lot in Ireland. My father died before I left.’
‘Oh, I’m so very sorry,’ he said.
He seemed genuinely touched by her loss and she felt it stir her grief, giving it permission to surface. She quickly changed the subject.
‘What brings you to New York?’
‘That is a very complicated tale for another day,’ he said. Something changed in his eyes. She caught it like a tremor rippling and then it was gone and he went back to his talk of the city. She didn’t feel like a servant and she allowed herself the dream, for she was sure she’d wake up any minute on the floor, Francisco flapping around, having cut off her air supply with that corset. There was an ease that seemed to come as a surprise to both of them, and he kept looking at her in earnest, as if taking mental notes to remember every detail. She stopped just shy of the mansion, not wanting to be seen with a stranger.
‘I can take it from here,’ she said as he placed the boxes on a nearby stoop.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘It was lovely to meet you, Evelyn. I do hope we meet again soon.’
He extended his hand again and this time when she took it, he brought the back of her hand to his lips, grazing them softly on her skin. She felt her whole body bristle as he kissed her, the same sensation she felt when she summoned fire, that tingle, that warmth.
‘Thank you for your help,’ she whispered, her heart beating so loudly she was sure he could hear it. He turned reluctantly before walking away back down the street. She stood there for a moment not quite knowing what to do, when he looked back at her. He did not smile but there was a look on his face of contemplation and she knew that she would see him again.
22
That night, the clouds parted to reveal a crescent moon in the black sky. In the alleyway, the door swung open and a group of revellers stepped into the moonlight. The first was the cowboy, the fringe on his jacket swinging as he walked. Tucked neatly in underneath was a crisp white shirt, finished with a black string necktie. On his arm was a beautiful red-haired woman. He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek and she pushed him away with a playful shove, before grabbing his jacket and planting a passionate kiss on his open mouth.
Behind them, came a black man, well dressed in a tailored suit. He wore it well though his frame was thin, his long legs stretching out in front of him as he walked. His hair was shorn close to his head and there was an intensity in his dark brown eyes, despite the smile on his lips as he observ
ed the lover’s kiss in front of him. The last one to step out was Sasha. He buttoned his long black overcoat as the door closed behind them.
‘You haven’t told us the plan for tonight’s festivities,’ Wade said.
‘Think of it as an aperitif for tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Gabriel thought we might like a game of poker. A diversion until I see my brother and the life he’s built for himself.’
‘So, you can take it?’ the girl said, a grin across her ruby lips.
‘Velle, your criminal mind never ceases to surprise me.’
‘Oh, I’m way past criminal don’t you think,’ she laughed, reaching out to take his hand. ‘We stick to the plan then?’
‘You always did like a nice slice of retribution.’
‘Oh yes,’ she said licking her lips.
‘The plan stays as is,’ he said.
‘And the girl?’
‘We do as Gabriel has asked.’
‘I think you made quite the impression on her,’ Wade said.
‘I like her,’ Velle said, resting her head against Sasha’s shoulder as they walked.
‘Well, nice to know you’re keeping an eye on me, mom and pop. I’ll be more discreet next time.’
‘Don’t be defensive. We just wanted to see her for ourselves. Same as you,’ Velle said. ‘Will be nice to have another gal around.’
‘I don’t know what Gabriel has planned for her. He’ll take her when it’s done,’ he said, his mind already struggling with the idea.
‘Not if she chooses to stay.’
The three vampires looked at their companion. Lincoln was a man of few words but when he spoke, he never wasted a single one. He had never seen the need for floral language. He had never needed it. His voice was smooth and deep, like molten rock buried deep beneath the earth’s crust. Sasha loved the sound of it, its frequency all too rare.
‘Indeed, she may decide her own fate,’ he said, buoyed by the idea and that his friends wouldn’t be troubled if she did. He tipped his hat to Lincoln, who raised his hand to tip an invisible one back.
He had been the last to join their family. It was at the State Fair in Syracuse in ’41. It was late summer and it didn’t get dark until well after nine, but when it did the crowds seemed to swell and come alive. Sasha, Wade and Velle moved through the sea of people. To anyone else they looked perfectly normal, perfectly human. But one person eyed them from afar – a lone vampire whose presence made Sasha’s senses heighten at the possible threat of violence. Meeting others of their kind rarely ended well. Wade felt it too as he stood in front of Velle but she pushed him out of the way, ready to face any enemy head on. Fireworks exploded in the sky above them as they walked towards him. Lincoln stood there, holding his ground. He didn’t advance but he held himself ready to fight. In his eyes, Sasha saw resilience but also fear. He would only be a threat if they were. As they approached Sasha smiled and extended his hand. Velle looked him up and down and then winked at him. He looked surprised but no less suspicious.
‘You are most welcome, friend,’ Sasha said, dropping his hand when the man did not reciprocate. ‘Come and hunt with us. This is the finest buffet in the county.’
Despite their friendly welcome, the vampire’s face remained serious.
‘I would rather not fight, if it’s all the same to you,’ Sasha said. ‘We have come to enjoy the festivities.’
The fireworks soared high above them, throwing out green, blue and red daggers of light across the sky.
‘I hunt alone. I’m not a wolf. I don’t need a pack,’ the vampire said.
‘Very well,’ Sasha said with a courteous bow of his head. ‘Then we shall leave you in peace.’ They walked away, but he did not leave. He watched them. How they killed with cunning and skill. How they blended into their surroundings and most importantly how they worked as a team and the genuine affection they had for one another. At two a.m., as they sat among the deserted chairs laughing and talking, he joined them, sitting down slowly next to Sasha, as if he might change his mind half-way and be off.
‘My name is Lincoln. You turn on me and I will kill you all,’ he said.
‘And I you,’ said Sasha patting him on the back. ‘We will become firm friends.’
‘Is Lincoln your real name?’ asked Velle, pushing her chair up to his.
‘It is my chosen name,’ he said.
‘It’s cool,’ she said and kissed him on the cheek.
From that night on, Lincoln stayed with them and as time went by he shared his stories with Sasha. He’d been right. They would become firm friends. Lincoln’s background was also one of hardship but whereas Sasha’s had been inside his family home, Lincoln’s hardship came from the world outside, and Sasha understood then his assumption that violence was the first and best response for their kind. In the years since he was re-born to blood, he had encountered more vampires bent on destroying their kind than preserving it. There was always a challenge especially from the elder ones who saw it as their right to destroy a fledgling they didn’t think fitted their idea of what a vampire should be, which sometimes came down to the very colour of one’s skin.
Lincoln had been born of a vampire who imposed his will on those he turned, and those who followed him in the name of freedom. With his band of killers, calling themselves The Whips, they unleashed a wave of terror throughout southern Louisiana turning slaves into immortals and killing their owners. The night he was turned, a thunderstorm raged and lighting crackled through the branches of the trees. He had awoken in his shack to find a group of men standing around him. The leader’s face was as white as the moon and he was surrounded by former slaves, all turned to his immortal ways. On the belt of each, was the whip that had been used against them, taken from their former slave master in their final moments.
‘Join us,’ the pale one said. ‘Be a free man at last. I will show you the way.’
Lincoln had no idea how extreme a price he was about to pay for such freedom, but he agreed, and the pale one performed the blood ritual there and then, binding them together. They went from plantation to plantation, selecting others, a few from each, to bring into their gang. However, somewhere along the way, their leader’s idea of freedom differed from theirs, as he intimidated and manipulated them into staying with him as one unit. He would not share his knowledge of their kind, telling them only what he needed to control them and have them do his bidding. At night, they would lay waste to the slave owners, but when one of their gang was killed with a blade through the heart, they went underground, afraid for their safety having been assured from their maker that they were indestructible. In the end, they realised that they were still enslaved and turned on their leader giving him the same fate, a stake through his static heart. After that, they had dispersed in search of their own freedom and a quest for knowledge. Lincoln’s freedom had come at a terrible price and Sasha understood his friend’s complex nature as he too felt the weight of their endless existence.
***
On the second floor of the Union Club of the City of New York, four men sat enjoying a hand of poker. The room was thick with cigar smoke, the green velvet of the card table obscured by the gold and silver coins strewn across it, each player comfortably enjoying a nights gambling. A knock at the door announced refreshments and a woman entered with a tray of fresh glasses and a decanter of bourbon. Her presence in the room was startling for many reasons, not least because women were not permitted within its walls.
‘Shall I pour?’ she said, so sweetly her words dripped with honey.
‘Now Miss, this is highly irregular. George, fetch the landing butler.’
‘So, you can cheat? I don’t think so,’ said his companion. ‘Just let her pour the drinks, Oswald. She’s a lot prettier than that ole butler.’
Velle liked George immediately. He was the eldest of the players and she liked the way his wiry moustache was coiffed
into little curls at each end. He took pride in his appearance, his black tuxedo immaculate with his neat bow tie. She walked behind him looking at his cards which he instinctively pulled closer to his chest.
‘Did Clay Philips send you up here, Miss?’ said Oswald. ‘Only Clay would sneak a woman in here, that dog!’
She shook her head, her eyes never leaving George as she dawdled her finger across his shoulder. Bending over, she slid her hands down onto his chest, her breath in his ear. He lay his cards face down, as she kissed his neck. His expensive cologne was sharp on her tongue but when mixed with his blood, it formed a heady cocktail, sultry and delicious. The incision had been quick. To his companions it was no more than a sensual kiss and George was stupefied, transfixed by her charms. It was only when she came up for air and they saw her open mouth, dripping with blood, that they recoiled in horror. She hissed at them, the blood euphoric to her.
Oswald ran for the door. It flew back into his face as Wade and Lincoln joined them. The cowboy grabbed him pinning him to the wall with one hand, taking his time to bring his lips to his neck, his sharp teeth melting into the man’s flesh. Lincoln took the other two men down in one go, cracking their skulls together. They fell to the floor, the vampire taking his fill of one then the other. When the dust had settled they looked at each other and burst out laughing. Wade inspected the cards on the table.
‘Well what’d’ ya know, my guy was winning – a straight flush.’
They left, closing the door behind them as Sasha came out of another room down the hall.
‘How many?’ he asked.
‘Four, a good catch,’ Lincoln said.
‘Glutton, you got two of them,’ Velle said. ‘Any you?’
‘One,’ he said. ‘I don’t seem to have the appetite tonight.’
Velle linked his arm, wiping a drop of blood from her lips with George’s silk handkerchief.