by Ramy Vance
I don’t know how long the monster drained me. I was lost in the moment of dying—it was painful, yes, but it was also sensual in a way I couldn’t explain, which, I suppose, was something my mother had been trying to protect me from too.
But I was not so lost in that moment that I didn’t feel something heavy strike the monster above me.
The vampire—I’m sure you guessed it was a vampire—released me and turned to face whoever had hit him, and that is when I saw my father standing there, an axe in one hand, his dirk in the other.
I guess Mother didn’t wait till morning, after all.
I did not see what happened after that, only learning later that my father attacked the vampire with all he had, and although he did not manage to kill the creature, he did manage to chase him off.
My father had saved me. Or so he thought.
↔
THE NEXT MORNING I woke up in my own bed. My body felt heavy, sluggish, difficult to move. It was as if I was buried under a thousand blankets—which I wasn’t. I was far too feverish for my cotton nightdress, let alone a blanket. Unencumbered, it felt as though my blood had been replaced with liquid lead.
Later—after I sired my first acolytes—I learned how right I was. When your body begins to take on the vampire virus, your blood becomes turgid—think molasses. And very heavy—think molasses trying to flow uphill. Movement is difficult because you are literally being weighed down by your insides—think molasses trying to … well, you get the idea.
But I wouldn’t learn what it was like for molasses to try to flow uphill for some time. At that moment all I knew was that I couldn’t move, I felt immense pain unlike anything I had ever known and my mother was by my side, dabbing my forehead with cool water she must have gathered from the nearby brook.
I could hear her cloth dip into the bucket and then the gentle drip as she wrung out the excess water back into the bucket. A gentle dab, dab, dab until my fever eventually turned the cold cloth into something hot and unpleasant to touch. Every time she placed the hot cloth back into the water, I could hear her suck air through the slight gap between her two front teeth.
She did that every time she was nervous.
Dab, dab, dab. Slosh. Suck.
Dab, dab, dab. Slosh. Suck.
I don’t know how long that went on for—hours, days, weeks.
It wasn’t as if time had stopped. I could still sense the seconds marching painfully on. But where those seconds would lead—at the time I had no idea. Had I known, I might have done whatever was left in my diminishing power to stop their progression altogether.
↔
THE MORNING I regained consciousness and some semblance of movement, I awoke to Mother sleeping on the chair next to me, and Father standing by the open window.
“Fa—” I started, but my voice caught in my throat.
My father turned around, his eyes widening, and I knew from the glistening tears jerking from his eyes that my waking was a great surprise to him. He had been preparing to say goodbye—to bury his daughter. And now that I was awake, he could hope that a headstone would no longer be necessary.
He was half-right.
“Don’t speak,” he said, darting to my side. He poured some water in a cup and helped me sip it. “Here, drink this.”
I felt the rim of the cold cup on my lips and longed for the relief that the cool water dripping down my throat would bring. But it did not sooth me or quench my thirst. Rather, it felt like someone was pouring gritty, caustic sand into my throat.
I coughed and pushed the water away from me.
“How long?” I managed, but my father didn’t need to answer for me to know. I estimated at least ten days based on the light bruise marks on my father’s face. The prizes of his fight with my predator. He must have put up one hell of fight to chase away a vampire, and taken many blows in the process—regardless of the fact that he was lucky to still be alive. But he was basically healed now, his face baring light yellow marks as evidence of what he did.
For me.
“Ten days, my little angel, my beautiful cherub,” he said.
Cherub—that’s what he called me whenever he was proud or happy, worried or angry. Come to think of it, that’s what he always called me.
I swallowed and coughed again. “And Gareth?”
In answer, he held up his hands and showed me the dirt beneath his nails.
That was when I first noticed my heart had stilled. “When?”
“Yesterday,” he said. “It was a beautiful ceremony. I wish you could have been there to say goodbye.”
“I as well, Father.”
“Are you in pain?” he asked.
I started to say yes, but examining myself, I found that the heaviness had left me, as had the pain. I still ached, but that stemmed more from thirst and hunger. My actual body felt whole. Strong, even.
I shook my head.
My father gave me a strange, worried look—the first of many. He had expected me to say that I still hurt, that I was still suffering, but no pain? That was cause for concern.
“I’ll go get the doctor,” he said.
“No, Father. Please,” I said, reaching for his hand. “Stay. Just a little longer.”
He gave me a pleasant smile and nodded. He placed a gentle hand on my mother’s arm, said, “Look who is awake.”
My mother—for that was who she was when she was human—stood up and, nearly falling on me, gave me the most uncomfortable, painful and wonderful hug of my life.
“Darling—you had us so worried. So terribly, terribly worried.”
My father, crying now in earnest, nodded and hugged me too.
Had I known that would be the last time the three of us would embrace as a family, I would have held on longer.
Hell—I would have never let go.
DIN, DIN TIME
P resent Day—
OF COURSE, that was all then and this was now. And now demanded that I get ready for dinner. Harsh, sure, but I’d had a long time to bury my emotions surrounding that fateful day. And I was still a teenager, which meant when I was hungry, I was hungry. I guess in that way, not much had changed from my vampire days to now.
I went over to my closet and tried to pick an outfit that would both impress my mother and be un-criticize-able, if such a thing were possible. Nothing too low cut, nothing too far above the knee. Something that was both modern and classic. I thought about how she dressed, with the gaudy purple skirt and blazer that hugged her body.
Then I thought about the hair bun and oversized glasses. She was going for an updated 1960s look, and I had to admit—to myself, I’d never say it out loud … on purpose, that is—she pulled it off.
Fine, if she was going for updated 1960s, I’d do her one better and hit the ’70s. Not the hippie look, mind you. I hated the bell-bottoms and tie-dye shirts, the I’m-Earthy look, which was really just an excuse to be messy and unkempt. Take a shower, ya know?
I’d go for the professional 1970s woman. Chinos with wide bottoms (not quite bell-bottoms, thank the GoneGods, but wide enough that the pants didn’t hug my calves), a colorful thick-striped tight-fitting long-sleeve shirt, bright yellow socks and red, low-heeled shoes.
Pulling out my Merino-wool plaid scarf, I looked at myself in the mirror. My colorful outfit matched and, what’s more, I was a full decade ahead of my mother.
This would have to do.
As I dressed, Deirdre was attending to her pups—which were not to be confused with cute baby dogs, but rather disgusting new-born rats. She hardly looked up at me as I dressed, which was strange. Normally my outfits fascinated the changeling, inspiring her to ask me a million questions about matching colors or styles or whatever ran through that changeling’s head. (If she had it her way, we’d all be naked, all the time.)
But today, she was distant, more concerned with the lives of her rats than anything else. Thank the GoneGods.
When I was ready, I turned to my fae roommate and said, “I’
m off.”
Deirdre didn’t look up, just giving me an absent wave goodbye.
Something was wrong—but I didn’t have time to figure out what it was now.
Maybe tomorrow. Hopefully those rats would be on their own “path” by then.
↔
MAMA’S DINER STOOD across from an old abandoned theatre that students tried to revive about once a year. Trouble with the theatre was that it was too big to be practical—some overly ambitious rich benefactor, surely—and the renovations too great to be done on the cheap. So the various attempts always fell apart before they really got started—which was particularly annoying, because the movie advertised was Jaws. No one even bothered to change that. A bit ironic, really—I dress as a woman from the ’70s and here I am, scoffing at that decade’s greatest achievement in film. Sorry, Spielberg.
I got to Mama’s Diner early and saw that I was the second to arrive. I had hoped that Justin would have been there so we could talk—and kiss—but of course my hunky boyfriend wasn’t early. He’d be fashionably late just so he could make an entrance. What a diva.
No, the other person there was Egya, standing with two bouquets of flowers in his hands. One an assortment of lilies, the other yellow roses.
“For you,” he said, handing me the lilies.
I raised an eyebrow. “And the other one?”
“Who else? Justin, of course,” he said with a wide-rimmed smile.
“Of course,” I echoed, returning his smile. Thing about Egya—he may be a pain-in-the-ass ex-werehyena who generally got his kicks from riling you up, but his smile was infectious. To not smile back was akin to not taking in a whiff of freshly baked apple pie.
And I love apple pie.
“So …” he started, “your mom’s in town.”
“You don’t say,” I said, eyes wide in mock shock.
“How you feeling about that?”
“Look, if this is some setup for a joke or some snide comment, I’m really not in the—”
He touched my hand and positioned himself so that he was in front of me. Then, luring me in with eyes as dark as a black hole, he said, “No—really. How are you doing?”
I blinked my way out of the black hole. “I’m OK.”
“Come on, Katrina. Don’t bullshit me.”
I pulled my hand away. “What do you want? I’m OK. Thanks for the flowers.”
“What is the shortest distance between two points?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me … what is the shortest distance between two points?”
“I don’t know, Egya. A straight line?” I said, doing my best to not hide my irritation.
He smiled. “The truth.”
“Ha-ha,” I said.
“It’s not a joke, girl. Now tell me … how are you doing? Really?”
I scanned his face for a hint of humor, some pending joke preparing to pounce, and saw none. He was genuinely concerned. Egya could be amazing when he wanted to be. Which was once in a blue moon. (Werehyena pun intended.)
Shaking my head, I said, “I don’t know. She’s acting … strange.”
“How so?”
“Like a mom. She hasn’t behaved like that since she was … you know.”
“Human?”
I nodded.
“Not so strange, then—she’s human now.”
“I guess. But you know what it was like to lose our, ahhh, Other-half. It wasn’t like our personalities just reverted back to our human days too.”
“True, but being only human is still different—from what we were, at least—and that can have a profound effect on people.”
“I suppose. Still …” I shook my head again, biting my lower lip. “But she’s not just here for me. So there’s clearly still a bit of the Queen Bitch in her. Seems my mother is working for—”
“Yoohoo!” I heard my mother’s voice call from down the street.
I had expected her to be walking, but instead found that she was sitting in the passenger seat of an old Mustang Convertible …
Next to my boyfriend.
Stylishly late, as always.
↔
“LOOK WHO I FOUND WALKING HERE,” Justin said, pulling up the car next to us.
I stared down at my mother, who had substituted her purple suit for casual jeans and a low, white silk blouse that not only showed off her substantial cleavage, but also the scallop-wide, strap lace of her bra.
So much for going classy, Mother, I thought.
“Pish-posh, darling,” my mother said. “There is nothing classier than an older woman embracing her femininity.” Then, as if I couldn’t be more horrified, she scooped up her … ahem, girls … jiggling them a bit, and drawing the eyes of both Egya and my boyfriend in the process.
“Mooom,” I said, feeling like an embarrassed teenager again.
“Lighten up, darling. I’m human, too,” she said, popping out of the car. Once outside, she pretended to curtsey (in jeans, classy) and said, “Thank you, young man, for rescuing a wandering soul from the side of the road.”
Egya handed my mother the second bouquet, which I now saw was actually made of chrysanthemums, Black-eyed Susans, yellow roses, peonies and a sunflower as its centerpiece. “In the Taoist tradition, the golden flower—symbolized by this bouquet of yellow flowers—symbolizes the highest enlightenment. And given that you are sure to enlighten us with embarrassing stories about Katrina as a child, it was an easy choice.” He sent a gleaming smile my way as he extended his arm to my mother and said, “Shall we?”
Show-off … no-good … charmer.
I waited for Justin to park his car so that I could give him a practiced glare. “Just found her on the street, huh?”
“Yeah,” he said, sensing he might have done something wrong. “She really was on the side of the road.”
“I didn’t realize you were in the habit of picking up streetwalkers.”
He gulped. “She’s your mom.”
“And?” I knew I was being difficult and didn’t care.
“I’m going to go with ‘sorry.’ Not sure why I’m sorry, but I do know that I am very, very, very sorry,” he said. “Add as many very’s as you need, and I’ll double them with kisses.”
I guess Egya isn’t the only charmer.
“Good.” I gestured for him to extend his arm—which he did. “Now escort me inside, please.”
↔
EGYA AND MOTHER already had drinks in front of them—and, I noticed, Mother’s was half empty. (Or half full?)
Egya pushed out a seat for me. I was positioned so that I could see the door, which is how I liked it. As a vampire, I got into the habit of always facing a door—that way I could see who was entering and be on the lookout for any anti-vampire people. Didn’t happen often, since it was rare that I’d manage to be officially invited inside a building, but old habits die hard. Besides, you never knew when you’d run into your estranged father and his Divine Cherubs.
Not that I had to worry about that anymore.
Still, it was nice of Egya to save me that seat, a safe distance from my mother. I’d have to add “considerate” in the column that off-set all the ticks in the “annoying” column.
“So, what is everyone having?” I asked, looking at the menu.
“Darling, according to this tall, dark and handsome gentleman, one must order poutine.”
“You know what poutine is, don’t you, Mother? Or did that tall, dark and whatever neglect to tell you?”
“I know what I thought it was,” she said with a wink.
At this Egya howled with real, genuine laughter that took an awkward amount of time to wind down to a few last chuckles. Seems it wasn’t only his smile that was infectious. Justin started snickering before letting out a full roar of laughter.
A couple seconds later, we were all laughing.
Between chuckles, I looked over at my mother, who was dabbing away tears of joy, and thought, Maybe being human does change you. I allowed mysel
f to relax. This dinner is going way better than expected, I thought.
“Of course, darling, what did you expect to happen?”
Damn out-loud me! I shrugged and said, “What always happens with us? Arguments, fights, often explosions.”
And as if the GoneGods were listening in on our conversation, the glass wall behind me shattered in an explosion of tiny dagger-like shards and three beings in black-ops uniforms and cherub masks came crashing through.
Whatever happened to using the door?
PART II
INTERMISSION
EARLIER—
George and Ringo had been in position to nab the vampire bitch as soon as she left the hotel, just like they planned. There’s an alleyway about fifty yards away from the hotel’s front door—perfect place to grab her. But then some college idiot pulled up in his old Mustang and—well, so much for their plan.
What is that expression? We make plans and God laughs. Well, God and the gods are gone—so Simione wonders if anyone is laughing now. He certainly isn’t.
“Abort,” Simione says in the walkie-talkie. “We’ll get her later.”
“Copy that,” George says, and although Ringo’s a good five feet away from the walkie-talkie, Simione still hears the kid groan.
“Don’t worry, kid—we’ll get her. We’ll get them both. Come on back to the van and we’ll figure out next steps.”
Ringo gave a thumbs-up.
The two brothers started trotting toward him. Ringo’s real name is Ryan, but given he’s George’s little brother and ugly as sin, the nickname Ringo’s too fitting not to use. The kid’s carrying the large duffle bag filled with all the goodies. Simione scans the street to make sure no cops are around. Two guys dressed in all black, with large conspicuous bags, screams up-to-no-good.
But that isn’t the case. They’re up to good. They’re up to a hell of a lot of good.
They’re hunting vampires.
↔
After the gods left and all the Others showed up, there were a lot of personal vendettas settled. Mostly between Others—but humans got into the game, too. Humans who were hurt by creatures of the night—werewolves, zombies … vampires.