by Dima Zales
“Anytime. If you want, we can take out the furniture, and you can replace it with your own, or you can just keep it...or sell it. I really don't care.”
“Are you serious?” He gaped at me, examining the surroundings. “You can't imagine how grateful I am, Alex...and Mitchell will love it, too!”
“I'm glad. I just have one other condition...” I said suddenly.
“What is it? I'll do anything!”
“Don't tell Paul...he wouldn't understand.”
“Sure, I won't say a word about it.” He grinned and hugged me again. “I'm going to go home and tell Mitch. Mom should be relieved to have us out of there, too. That way, we aren't there to see and hear the arguing and fighting anymore.”
I smiled, grateful that he was happy, and that I would no longer have the burden of tending to the place—not that I did a good job of that. “Tell Mitchell I said hi. Try not to spend too much time fighting over bedrooms.”
Jason laughed. “I’ve got a feeling it won't be too hard. Thanks so much Alex!”
“You're welcome,” I said, gave him a set of house keys and walked out with him. He took my hand and guided me to my car to protect me from the slush again, and before long I was pulling out of the driveway, and he was walking home, both of us headed in different directions.
25
I scoured the local cemetery that night, despite not hearing any rumors of bizarre behavior in the vicinity. I was positive I had not eliminated every vile vampire in town, and I had a strange feeling that I might encounter one here tonight. Before arriving, I called Salem to let him know where I would be, and I knew that before long he would show up—whether visible or in hiding. The snow and slush had all but dissipated, leaving a thick layer of mud on the ground. The brown sludge was thick against the base of my sneakers. My crossbow was concealed beneath my dark jacket, the lump only noticeable if you were actually looking for it.
The area was completely quiet, giving it a creepy vibe—as if an old graveyard wasn't disturbing enough already. I passed through a section of near-identical headstones, idly reading the names and dates as I walked by each one:
Henry Eddison – 1954 – 1986.
Jeffery Leonard – 1936 – 2000.
Marcy Wickman – 2000 – 2006.
The last one overwhelmed me. Only six years of life...my lips curved downward, and I tried to ignore the oncoming depressive thoughts until my eyes met the grave marker beside Marcy's. It looked new, as if it had just been placed recently. In fact, had I taken another step forward I would have collapsed into the vacant grave. Hesitantly, I peered downward—it was empty. My curiosity got the best of me—as it often had—and I crouched beside the headstone to get a look at the name.
It was difficult to read in the dark, unlike the older ones I had read just seconds ago; these letters were black. My hand began trembling as I traced my index finger along the inscription. As my eyes adjusted, the letters came into view, and I gasped. Big, bold letters ran across the front of the stone:
ALEXIS WALDRON
SEPTEMBER 9 – NOVEMBER 13
I jumped away from what was presumably my grave and bumped into something—someone. I shouted and tried to run, but a cold hand wrapped around my arm. I sighed with relief.
“Salem?” I said in a hopeful voice. “Please tell me that's you.”
“I am afraid not, my dear.” The voice was unfamiliar, masculine and dark. It did, however, hold a similar accent to that of Salem's.
My body involuntarily shuddered, though not at all from the gust of wind that swept passed us. He spun me around with the slightest movement of his hand, and I came face to face with my assailant. His face seemed almost gentle. He must have been in his mid-thirties, before he became a member of the undead. His eyes were circled with deep, purple shadows, and the irises were a surprisingly cool shade of amber. A mane of pale blonde hair cascaded down to his shoulders, and his lips were arched in a dreadful grin that stole away any beauty that may have existed on his face.
“You cannot begin to imagine how long it has been since I waited for this moment.” His cold, smooth hand swept the side of my face. “Once word of a raven caught my attention, I simply had to come to this little hole of a town to meet her! And for it to be you, of all people!” He laughed darkly, but I didn't understand the humor.
“Where did you hear that from?” I gasped at his touch, while attempting to keep my voice level and not show my fear. Where was Salem when I needed him!
“I have my connections. However, that is unimportant, Alexis. What is important, is what I am about to offer you.” His hand fell upon my throat, but his touch was gentle, without intent to hurt me—yet.
“There is nothing I could ever want from a monster like you!” I shouted, squirming to get away but despite how gentle he was holding me I couldn't break free.
He shut his eyes and shook his head slowly from side to side, making a 'tsk-tsk' sound. “You really shouldn't lie to me like that, dear Alexis.” His eyes opened, revealing empty black voids. My jaw fell open when I saw Salem's face reflected in his pupils. “I am fully aware of your relationship with a ‘monster’ such as I, and I know he would hate to hear you call him one.”
“Salem isn't a monster.” My voice was low and steady, very much unlike my heartbeat.
“Then, why should I be classified as one?” He grinned again and I could see the tips of his pearly fangs. “That truly hurts my feelings.” His voice was overly sarcastic.
“I doubt you even have feelings!” I shouted, wriggling in his grasp once more–this time he tightened his hold on me.
The vampire cocked his head to the side and looked at me, examining me from head to toe. “Let's get back to my offer, now, shall we?”
“Whatever it is, I don’t care. I’m not doing anything for you!”
He smiled fully then, despite my response—as though he expected it, and I was amazed at how stunning he looked with the moonlight casting a radiant glow against his blonde hair. “I have never personally met a Waldron that could turn into a raven; this is truly a treat for me. And, to have one in my arms, so warm and wriggling...it is most tempting. I could kill you right now, and no one would ever know where to find you. However!” He paused dramatically, leaning his head toward my throat. I could hear him inhaling my scent. “What if I offered you everlasting life? It is what you wish for, is it not?”
“Are you asking to make me, a vampire hunter...into a vampire?” I almost laughed. But he was far from being wrong with his assumption on my want for immortality.
“That is precisely what I am offering you, Alexis Waldron! Never having to worry about aging, isn't that what you want?” His voice was alluring. “Imagine, being with your beloved Salem without having to worry about age or death ever coming between you! Considering he doesn't appear willing to grant you your desires, I thought perhaps I would offer.”
“Death is still possible.” My voice was a mere whisper. “My family is evidence enough of that.”
“Your family has never been the best of hunters, aside from a few and perhaps yourself. You show potential at being so much more, however.”
“That's why you want me, then, isn't it?”
His gaze met mine, and he smirked. “You are also quite intelligent, but are you smart enough to make the right decision? As a vampire, you could be so powerful, so capable. By my side, we could take control of the infantile vampires; teach them the proper ways of hunting. Imagine the endless supply of blood we could gather, town after town!” His malicious laughter sent chills down my spine. “Tell me this does not tempt you, my darling Alexis?”
My mind was racing with questions, worries, wonders, the possibilities...how would Salem react to this? Would he love me less if I accepted this vampire's proposal? Would I become a monster, or would I be capable of controlling my want–my need–to feast on human blood?
“Salem's opinion is not important,” the vampire murmured, his cold lips right below my ear. “All that m
atters now is this moment, this decision.” It was hard to resist the hypnotic tone of his voice as it whispered against my throat.
“And if I say no?”
He shrugged his shoulders and let out a wisp of laughter. “Then, I shall enjoy your blood thoroughly before discarding your empty corpse in this pit beside us.”
“That sure gives me a lot of options,” I groaned. “Before I make any decisions, answer me one thing,” I offered, hoping to buy me some time. Surely Salem would be here soon.
The blonde-haired vampire arched a curious brow. “What have you to ask of me, raven?”
“Who are you and how did you know where to find me?”
He didn't release me, but loosened his grasp on my arm. “How I found you is simple. I have a direct connection with your Salem, although he might not be aware of that. We have somewhat of a...bond, you might say, as do all vampires and their Sires.” His mouth formed a malicious grin, and my eyes grew wide.
“Raziel...”
“Ah, so he has mentioned me! How delightful,” Raziel mused as he brushed his fingers through my hair, despite my obvious objection to his gesture. “Now, was that all you wanted to know or may we get through with this? You must understand how difficult it is for me, mere inches from you...the blood coursing through your veins nearly beckons to me! I don't understand how Salem can tolerate it.”
“Because he can control himself—something that all of you should learn to do!”
“That leads me to believe you are not going to accept my offer.” He frowned. “You would have made such a wonderful addition to the family.”
“My own family would hunt me down and kill me eventually.”
“Not necessarily. Do you realize how long I have walked this earth without a single brush with death?” Raziel laughed. I could feel his breath against my skin. “I could teach you the proper ways of being a vampire. The ones you have killed are mere fledglings without guidance!”
This was not how I imagined my death, helpless in a graveyard with a vampire—especially not the one that turned Salem into what he was. But what choice did I have? I couldn't bear to live for all eternity with Salem loathing me for what I had become, or worse still— becoming a monster like the one in front of me. “I can't accept your offer...” I said quietly, feeling the tears well up in the corner of my eyes.
Raziel sighed against my cheek. “You have greatly disappointed me, dear raven...and your beloved Salem, no doubt.” He laughed mockingly. “I would have thought you had his best interest in mind!”
“This would be his best interest!” I shouted. “He wouldn't want me to be like you!”
The vampire shook his head once more. “Your answers astound me, but very well.” My eyes widened in horror as he flung my body to the ground. I heard something crack as I hit the side of a tombstone. Why was I not transforming?! I could fly away; I could escape this brutal torture! And where the hell was Salem!
I struggled to get up then realized with anguished screams that it was no use—my leg was either fractured or broken. Raziel laughed as I shook with pain on the muddy surface, his body looming over me. I saw his once-amber eyes flood with darkness. With one sudden, swift motion, he was on top of me, his hands pressed into mine. I thought he was about to end it all, but instead I saw something reflected in his eyes. Images played like a movie through his pupils, and suddenly I was engulfed in the darkness as though dragged into the scene of a movie.
26
My eyes quickly scanned the area. I was in a small house decorated in plain, dull furnishings. The living room was cramped with a small sofa, a rocking chair and an old bassinet. To the left of me was a kitchen that looked extremely outdated, and realization struck me: Raziel was sharing a memory with me. My legs took me down a small hall and into a room on the right. I wasn't in control of my movements; the vampire must have been guiding me.
The room was bright and colorful, with a small bed in the corner and another rocking chair beside it. I gasped at the sight of the adorable little girl curled up in the bed. A braid of golden hair lay delicately across her sleeping face. She looked serene, until her eyes flew open. I worried that she had seen me, but realized there was no way that was possible. Someone else was in the room with me. I turned to see a tall figure hiding in the shadows. His eyes glimmered like amber jewels, and I knew at once who I was seeing.
“Daniel!” Hannah's angelic voice whispered when she saw him. “I knew you’d come back!”
Daniel? This couldn't be right. The man stepped out of the shadows, wiping away all doubt. This was Raziel’s face. The eyes, the blonde hair, the gentle features—there was no mistaking him.
“Hannah, my love!” He smiled and lifted the small child into his arms. “I have missed you so.”
“Momma says that you are imaginary, Daniel,” the little girl said as she hugged the man. “Is that true?”
The man laughed. “Of course it isn't. If I were imaginary, I couldn't possibly be holding you. You would be floating!”
A flood of harmonious giggles filled the room. How had no one else heard the sound? Perhaps the Young family was so used to hearing Hannah talk and laugh with herself at night that it no longer woke them. The bond between her and Daniel was beautiful, yet it somehow sickened me.
“I brought you a present,” Daniel said with a sly grin. “But you must keep it a secret.”
“Okay!” Hannah said joyfully, anticipating the surprise.
Daniel pulled a locket from the pocket of his brown vest and offered it to the child. “I bought this especially for you,” he said and his face lit up at the girl's reaction. “Let me put it on for you.”
I watched as the man placed Hannah on the floor and gently wound the necklace around her neck. She pulled it up to her face and pried open the locket. There was a small black-and-white picture of her on one side, the other was empty.
“Why isn't there a picture of you in here?” she asked.
“I don't photograph well,” he replied with a light laugh.
“Or you really are imaginary!” Hannah said with a gasp.
“Perhaps.” Daniel smiled sadly. “There is one more thing I have for you, dear Hannah. Can you promise that you will give it to your mother in the morning?”
“Okay!”
“Good girl,” he said and offered her a folded piece of paper. “Make sure Daddy isn't around when she reads it,” he warned, emphasizing unpleasantly on the word 'daddy', and then patted her lightly on the head.
“Okay!” She hugged Daniel and kissed him gently on the cheek.
“Time for bed then,” he said, picking her up and gently placing her on the tiny mattress. He pulled the covers up and tucked her in. “I'll be back tomorrow night.”
“Promise?” she said with a pout.
“Promise.” He smiled and disappeared out the window.
The vision faded and another appeared. I was now outside, peering in through a window. Daniel was beside me, discreetly hidden so that he wouldn't be caught peeping. Hannah and Maggie were sitting together on the rocking chair in the living room; our view of them was from the side. Their voices came through the window as if we were right beside them.
“What is it, Hannah?” Maggie asked as the small girl offered her a piece of paper.
“Daniel asked me to give this to you.”
Maggie's eyes grew angry at the name, but she relaxed somewhat and sighed. “How many times must I tell you that he is not real, darling?”
“He is real!” Hannah argued.
Maggie ignored her daughter and unfolded the paper. I suspect she had been anticipating a letter covered in childish scribbles or nothing at all—instead she found a note scrawled in magnificent lettering. I could barely read the letters from where I was. But, I could distinctly hear Margaret's voice as if she was reading it aloud, although her lips never moved.
“Dearest Margaret,
Despite your regrets and frequent requests that I cease to visit my dear Hannah, I am afra
id I cannot abide by your rules. She is mine just as much as she is yours. Come to your senses and please tell Arthur the truth. Tell Hannah the truth! She deserves to know who her true father is. It pains me to be away from her, and for you to try to convince her that I am unreal is preposterous!
Please, if you cared for me at all, you would do this for me—for us.
With love–whether returned or forgotten,
Thomas D. Winter”
Before I had the opportunity to even think about what I had just seen, I was dragged into another memory. Daniel was weak and drunk, slumped against the wall of an alley. His eyes were red and swollen from tears, and he looked younger than before. His face was flushed and red, full of life—he wasn't a vampire in this vision. Clenched in his hand hung a crumpled piece of paper that had obviously been read countless times, judging by the state of it. His voice entered my head as he re-read the note:
“Thomas,
I did not know how to tell you this in person. I am with child. It is unlikely—no—it is impossible that this child is Arthur’s. It is yours, Tom. I know that we had planned to set off together, and that I would leave him, but things have changed; we have reconciled. I cannot do this to Salem or Arthur. I will raise this baby as his, and it will never even know your name. I am sorry Thomas, but you must understand. This is for the best, for us all.
Farewell,
Margaret.”
After one last swig of alcohol, he tossed the bottle furiously at the wall across from him. The bottle shattered and sprinkled tiny pieces of sharp glass all around. His eyes were suddenly alert to the sound of footsteps.
“Who’s there?” he asked with a drunken slur.