by Rye Brewer
He was so rarely complimentary, I hardly knew what to think.
And then, he ruined it. “You’re less and less like a vampire every day.”
“Why? Why do you do it?” I shouted. The soft, dirt walls absorbed my voice the way they’d absorbed my electricity back when I couldn’t control it.
“Do what?”
“You know what, so don’t act like you have no idea what I mean. You go from being nice to being hateful like that.” I snapped my fingers. “I never know where I stand with you. Why do you hate me so much? I’ve never done anything to make you hate me like you do.”
He opened his mouth as though he was about to answer, then his jaws snapped shut so hard, I heard it. His eyes blazed like the torches on the walls. He was fighting with himself. But what was the fight?
I wished I knew. If I did, I would be much closer to understanding him than I was and I wanted to understand him. I had never wanted anything as much, not even my mother or my sister or my freedom.
Not even Scott. Scott was like a childhood memory, like something I used to think was important back when I was too young to know any better. He was sweet and wonderful and had always been there when I needed him, especially when I was at my most vulnerable when I first left Marcus’s dungeon.
But his face wasn’t clear in my memory anymore. When I thought of him, it was as a friend. When I thought of Stark, every dark emotion I’d ever harbored came bubbling to the surface with an intensity that took my breath away. I longed for him and wished he was dead, sometimes both at once.
Instead of answering my question, he chose to address my prior statements. “Listen. I can’t remove your powers. Sorry, that’s not what I’m here for. But there might be a way.”
“Really?” Hope sparked in my chest, dangerously close to becoming a blaze. I was afraid to hope. I couldn’t help but hope.
He held up his hands, palms out. “Relax. I said there might be. Not that there definitely is. There might be someone, or even more than one someone, who knows how to cast a spell to remove your powers. It would take a lot of power, and a lot of knowledge, but stranger things have happened. Right?”
“Yes. Such as my sudden ability to shoot lightning bolts from my fingers.” I had long since stopped believing in limits. There weren’t any. The most unreal, unbelievable things were possible.
“Correct.”
“Do you know who this might be? Any ideas?”
Another internal fight. He turned his face away from me, looking at his shoes instead. “I don’t know.”
And I didn’t know if I believed him, but I was too afraid of his reaction to press the subject. He would blow up and might even decide not to tell me anything, even if he did know. Or he’d turn to ice, and still decides not to tell me a single thing.
He was that driven to make me miserable, to leave me as I was. Being a vampire was so unacceptable, he’d rather force me to exist as a loathed hybrid, someone who’d never have a place anywhere.
“Why do you hate me?” I asked again, trembling this time. Not that any excuse he gave would be enough, but I thought I deserved to know.
20
Stark
Why did she do it to me? Why did she make it so impossible to think like myself when I was around her?
Why did she ask questions I couldn’t hope to answer?
It was like she saw something in me I had never revealed to anyone else and certainly had no intention of ever revealing to her. A weakness I’d struggled to conceal for so long, a part of my history I’d never wanted anything more than to bury forever. To remember only brought pain. What had I ever done to deserve the torture she inflicted upon me just by existing?
“I don’t hate you.” It was all I trusted myself to say.
She tilted her head to the side. How many times had I seen her do that? I knew a question was coming.
“What is it, then? Is my being a vampire such a crime that you’d rather I be a hybrid for the rest of my life? I’ve never known anybody like you—which is saying something, by the way, because I’ve known some fairly hateful creatures. Vampires and fae don’t mix. Vampires and shades don’t mix. On and on. I can even understand it to a point, and chalk it up to ignorance. But you? You take it to the next level, a level I didn’t even know existed. Your hate is that deep.”
“You’re right,” I snapped, relishing the sight when her eyes went wide with shock.
She hadn’t expected that. It would’ve been easier for her if I’d defended myself, sworn I didn’t literally hate vampires. I wasn’t there to make things easy. “I do hate vampires, and my hate is that deep. It’s run that deep for longer than you’ve existed.”
“But… I don’t understand that. How can you hate me based on something that happened before I existed?”
“I just told you, I don’t hate you personally. I hate vampires.”
“Why can’t you see it’s the same thing?”
It wasn’t the same thing. Not at all. It was only because I liked her as much as I did that there was any conflict in me at all. It was there, and it was all-consuming. Every minute I spent with her was a fight between the nausea her very existence inspired and the urge to take her in my arms. It was like a joke on me, some universal force setting up the pieces of my life while laughing at the pain I’d be caused. There was no other explanation.
“I hate vampires on principle. As a rule. Not you. Just…”
“Just who I am,” she finished with a snarl. “Why? What could possibly have happened that could color your opinion for all this time?”
“Have you ever heard my name?”
She frowned. “What? Why are you changing the subject?”
“I’m not. And I take it you haven’t.”
“No. I’d never heard of you until I arrived here.”
I nodded, then sat on an ancient barrel which stood against the wall. It was dusty and dirty and covered in webs—even so, I needed to sit when I told my story. I didn’t trust my body to work along with me when the memories flowed thick and vivid.
I hadn’t told anyone in so long. Much too long. I needed her to know, just the same. When she did, she might understand better why it was impossible for me to see her as anything but a vampire.
“Four hundred years ago. It started four hundred years ago.” I stared at the wall across from me, already lost. I remembered those days so clearly, as though I were still there. Part of me was, I supposed. Back there with her. “My sister was a clever witch with endless potential.”
“Sirene?” Sara whispered.
“No. Emilie was my full sister, my only full sister. And my dearest friend. When I picture her in my mind…” I trailed off with a smile.
“Was she very lovely?”
“The loveliest thing. Everybody thought so. Not only physically, but inside, too. She had a gentle soul, an inquisitive mind. A joyful spirit, and an adventurous one. When she received word that she’d been accepted as a sort of companion to a much more powerful witch. In return for her companionship and assistance, Isobel would be trained by this witch. It was a wonderful opportunity, and she was supremely honored and thrilled to accept.”
“So, when she found out she’d have to travel to a new, nearly uncharted country, she didn’t balk at the thought. As I said, she had a sense of adventure. An unparalleled one.”
“Where did she go?”
“The New World, of course.”
“In the human world?” Her eyes were round with surprise.
I found when I glanced her way that she’d taken a seat on the floor, legs folded beneath her. I had a captive audience.
“Indeed. At the time, we lived in Romania, or what’s now referred to as such. I ran my family’s business interests there—we were quite wealthy, owning wide swaths of land both there and elsewhere, across Europe. Our father was a bit of what would later be referred to as a robber baron. He took and took. There was no end to his appetite for money, any more than there was for his appetite for
power. I suppose his abilities were an aid to his success,” I added with a rueful smile.
“He magicked his way into it,” she murmured.
“I suppose so. Because of that, we didn’t have much of a relationship. He cared little for me or my sister and was satisfied to let us take care of ourselves.” I shrugged. “At any rate, I maintained our business interests while he traveled and bought more and more of what he wanted. I hated the idea of Isobel leaving, going so far away, with nobody to protect her. But I had business to wrap up and couldn’t simply leave.”
I looked at the floor, the shame and guilt still crushing me just as much as all those years earlier. It was a pain I had yet to learn to live with. One would think that after so long, I’d be able to forget or at least allow the pain to lessen somewhat. It wasn’t possible.
“I promised I’d meet up with her as soon as I could. It felt like ages, but I managed to get things under control within three months. By then, I hadn’t heard anything from Emilie after she set sail from somewhere along the coast of Spain, and I was beginning to worry—then again, keep in mind that communication wasn’t anything like it is now. By the time a letter was received, weeks and weeks would have passed. Especially when the letter made its way from present-day Massachusetts.”
When I looked at Sara again, a sort of understanding began to dawn on her face. She was following the story out to its logical conclusion.
I continued on before she had the chance to interject. “By the time I arrived, it was already over. The witch Emilie had traveled with was already dead. She’d been drained of blood.”
“Oh, no…”
I ignored her. “And Emilie...” I closed my eyes, but I could still see her beautiful face. The clear, laughing eyes, the hair black as jet. Her smile. I had to get it out before it choked me. “She was accused of witchcraft and burned at the stake.”
I took a few deep breaths to steady myself before continuing. I couldn’t help but imagine her burning. Her hair catching fire, her skin blistering and blackening as she screamed.
“The local magistrate was kind enough to allow me to take her things. She didn’t have much—clothing, books, a handful of letters from me. And her journal. I learned the whole, horrible truth when I read her journal.”
The crushing pain was almost too much. I could almost see her beautiful script, so carefully placed on the page, describing the excitement with which she’d made the journey and her hopes for training. She’d had so much potential. She could’ve been one of the most powerful witches in the world.
“What did it say?” Sara asked in a solemn whisper.
“At first, things were well. The trip was long, but fairly uneventful. Until she met a nightwalker.”
“Nightwalker?”
“Vampire,” I spat. “A vampire. They met up on the ship. She sensed what he was immediately, just as he sensed her. She was willing to live and let live. You see, vampires and witches tried to avoid stepping on each other’s toes, you might say, even though there was no love lost between our kinds. Emilie wanted a new life in the New World and was willing to let it pass. He wasn’t.”
I shook my head, trying to clear the images her words brought to mind. “Suffice it to say, just before the journey’s end, he did his best to seduce her. She wasn’t interested. He vowed revenge, the bastard. He told her she would regret turning him down.”
I turned to Sara, whose eyes by this time shone with unshed tears. “Your tears won’t help Emilie,” I said, shaking my head. “She’s been gone all these centuries after dying one of the most painful deaths I can imagine. I’ve had to live all this time with the knowledge that if I hadn’t been so damned busy with what I thought was important—money—I could’ve prevented this from happening to her. All the while, the bastard who set her up to die—the nightwalker—who accused her of witchery, and provided or manufactured enough evidence for it—has walked free. I don’t know if he’s still alive, but I know he had a longer life than he deserved.”
I leaned in, closer to her. “Now, ask me again why I hate vampires the way I do.”
21
Sara
I didn’t know what to say. What could I say in the face of a story like that? The pain was so evident in his voice, so clear and vivid I could almost touch it. A living thing. So much hatred, for such a good reason.
At least, what appeared on the surface to be a good reason. Not all vampires were like the one who’d killed his sister and the other witch. I certainly wasn’t. Neither were my mother, nor Anissa, nor Scott and his family.
My words would’ve fallen on deaf ears if I’d tried to explain.
Instead, once enough time had passed that I felt comfortable speaking again, I asked, “Why would I know your name, though? You asked if I did, and that question seemed to lead to your story.”
He heaved a sigh, his eyes clearing up after being nearly clouded over by pain. “Do you trust me?”
It seemed to come out of nowhere. “What?”
“Do you?”
“Yes.” I didn’t even have to think about it. I trusted him implicitly, whether or not he hated vampires.
If he’d wanted to hurt me, he’d already had plenty of opportunities to do so. He hadn’t. He’d never done anything but push me closer to harnessing my powers.
“Then, come with me.” He stood, brushing off the seat of his robes, then held out a hand to help me up. I took it without thinking, pleased at the chance to make contact with him even if it was fleeting.
“Where are we going?”
“Always with the questions,” he sighed, leading me out of the training room—I’d come to think of it as such—and down the familiar tunnel which led to the old, stone staircase.
It wound up, up, all the way to the first floor of the fortress. Where I’d first entered, when everything had seemed so new. The fear I felt back then was a distant memory.
When he strode purposefully toward the heavy front door, I pulled up short. “We’re leaving?”
“Would you stop asking questions already? It’s the one thing about you I simply can’t abide by.”
“Besides my vampirism,” I reminded him sourly.
“Besides that.”
We stepped out into the damp chill, the sort of air that settled into the bones. I pulled up the hood of my dark robes and wrapped my arms around myself to contain as much of my body heat as possible.
“Don’t worry. We’re not going far.”
That was a relief, at any rate. I cast my eyes toward the wooden plank walkway at the water’s edge and wondered if Fane had been back since we met there. I hadn’t seen him since, though I’d hardly been looking. I’d forgotten almost everything in the face of my training. And Stark.
We walked over the stone pathway between our fortress—funny how I’d come to think of it as ours—and the one furthest from the water, carved out of the center of the mountain. It looked much the same as the one I’d been calling home, and I wondered what could be so special about it that we had to go there. I knew better than to ask.
Stark led me inside, and I was instantly glad of the chance to feel warm again—as warm as one could feel in a fortress carved from rock, with little charm or comfort. It was almost an exact replica of the one we’d just left, right down to the tapestries on the walls. Only these told a different story, though they were so faded I couldn’t quite make out what the story was.
I didn’t have time to examine them, either, since Stark didn’t slow down. I followed him across the stone floor in the corridor with almost no light from the sparsely torch-lined walls. There simply weren’t enough of them to light such a cavernous space.
He charged forward as though he could see in the dark, leading me down another staircase, through another tunnel. All that, to be led to another tunnel? I wondered silently why all the tunnels under all the fortresses couldn’t be connected. It would make traveling between them much easier in bad weather.
We didn’t stop walking for w
hat seemed like forever. On and on through what seemed like miles of carved stone. Maybe not miles, though it felt that way. I was starting to tire out—it had been a long day of training, and I could’ve used a rest. Again, I knew that pointing this out would be a waste of time.
There was, however, one question which I felt deserved an answer. “Where are we, Stark?”
“Where does it look like?”
“It’s very charming when you answer a question with a question,” I muttered. “It looks like we’re in the fortress, still. Nothing’s changed.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. We’re not even in Hallowthorn Landing anymore.”
I reached out for him, taking him by the shoulder and using all the power I could muster up to stop him where he was. “Wait a minute. We’re not? How can that be?” I turned him around—or he turned around, I wasn’t sure. Either way, he faced me.
I had the pleasure of seeing his face crinkle in a smile. “You know, vampires are such base, simple creatures.”
“Shut up,” I warned. “I’m tired of you treating me this way. I don’t deserve it. Besides, I’m not even a full vampire anymore. I’m more than that now.”
One eyebrow went up. “Oh? How is that? Because you can control your electric displays? That makes you something more than who you are?”
I scowled. There were limits to a person’s patience, and even though I felt sorry for his painful history—I might even hold a grudge for as long as he had, if something like what he’d been through had happened to me—I wasn’t about to let him get away with treating me how he did.
“Fine, then. If I’m not good enough the way I am, if I don’t pass muster as a witch, I want you to teach me more.”
I had never seen him look so surprised. It was something new, seeing him react that way. “You’re serious?”
“Very,” I said with a firm nod.