by Ramy Vance
“But—”
“But nothing—I am here for a reason,” she said, loud enough that anyone listening—say, behind a glamor—would hear, “and I will not be dissuaded. Lizile, my name is Charlotte Darling … perhaps you have heard of me? Of course you have. Well, then, you know enough that I will not leave, not until—”
The sliding door opened—but not in the way sliding doors should. Rather, a hinged door swung out and a tall, sylph-like woman walked to the threshold. She had “vampire” written all over her—a long, purple satin skirt, a white long-sleeve blouse under a black and red corset and deepset sage green eyes. But perhaps the most telling sign was that she did not step into the sunlight, careful to stay out of the rays’ path.
Lizile gestured for us to enter.
We did, and as I approached the door I saw that the glamor remained. On the outside, it looked like a pane of glass that showed a spacey, sparsely furnished interior. But the inside of the door was heavy oak with steel bars that were intended to keep unwanted guests locked out.
And anyone who entered, imprisoned inside.
WHO’S YOUR DECORATOR?
O nce inside, I found myself in an interior that was much more aligned with what I knew of vampires: heavy Persian rugs covering the floor, sometimes stacked three deep; tapestries from China and Japan covered the walls; and antiques of unimaginable value sat on every mahogany table, side-table and coffee-table. In other words, for the hosts of the Antiques Roadshow this place was the stuff of wet dreams.
And pretty typical for us. My castle (small one, nothing too fancy) back in Scotland was similarly decorated, although I was more of an oak gal.
What wasn’t typical were the shelves that lined the back wall. Spanning about twenty feet wide and easily fifteen feet high, they were filled with jar after jar of liquids and powders, herbs and other stuff you might expect to find in a witch’s lair.
“Nice place,” I said.
“Nice glamor,” my mother added. “Must have cost you a lot of time. Or a lot of some Other’s time …?”
Lizile didn’t take the bait. She tilted her head from side to side before saying in a voice that sounded more like a clock than words, “Not time. Resources. This house was made like this before the magic left us. I use my science to sustain.” She gestured at her shelves.
“Science,” I said. “Don’t you mean alchemy?”
The old vampire gave me a wry smile, and I almost expected to see fangs poking out; this ex-vamp was still very much oozing the vampire’s aura. “Magic is only science unexplained. And alchemy is science not understood. I mean what I mean, girl.”
My mother tapped me on the shoulder in an admonishing manner. “Don’t be rude. Girl.”
Her words didn’t hurt. But even the light, almost playful tap hurt my ribs.
Lizile saw me wince. “You are hurt.”
“Cracked ribs and—”
“It’s nothing,” my mother interjected. “Let us get down to business. We need something you have.”
Lizile ignored my mother, continuing to gaze at me with unblinking eyes. Then, without a word, she glided—well, walked, but her legs hardly moved under that long, satin skirt, causing a graceful yet unsettling gliding effect—over to her shelf and pulled down a vial of … something.
“Here—drink. It will not heal you, nor will it take away the pain. It will, however, shorten the time needed for the former, and lessen the intensity of the latter.”
She corked it open and a purplish mist that screamed “magic potion cliché” tumbled out.
“Ahhh,” I said looking at my mother.
She nodded. “Go ahead. Lizile knows that hurting my daughter will cost her.”
At this, Lizile nodded in agreement, still never taking her unblinking eyes off of me.
I sipped it, expecting to taste something between black bananas and algae. But what touched my tongue tasted more like … like …
“Is that … cinnamon?”
“And nutmeg.”
“Humph, who knew a witch’s brew was so tasty?” I downed the rest in two quick gulps.
“I prefer ‘alchemist potion.’ ”
I smacked my lips. Even though I had literally just ingested it, I did feel much better already. Don’t get me wrong—my ribs still hurt quite a bit. But the pressure felt less intense and it was easier to breathe.
“We’re here for the Amulet of Souol. Well, your half of it,” my mother said, clearly impatient by this little display.
Amulet of Souol, I thought. Mother was holding out on me.
“I know,” Lizile said.
“You do?” Mother sounded genuinely surprised, which gave me a genuine taste of satisfaction.
“Of course, Charlotte Darling—your legend proceeds you, and a vampire of your ilk would only come to this secluded place for one purpose.”
“Really?” My mother lifted a dubious eyebrow.
Lizile’s lips curled upward as she pointed at a telephone that probably once stood in a phone booth—once, as in the 1950s. “Dostarious called me.”
“Really?” my mother said again. “I thought you two weren’t speaking.”
Lizile lifted a lecturing finger. “Not seeing each other. Different than not speaking. We are still scientists, after all. We still have notes that need comparing, experiments that require peer rev—”
“The amulet?” my mother cut in, her hand out.
“Now who’s being rude?” I said, glaring at my mother.
“I do apologize, darling, but it has been a long night and there is much still to do.”
“Indeed,” Lizile agreed.
This surprised me, as I half expected her to be insulted by my mother’s taciturn positioning and kick us out. Well, she could try at least. I very much doubted my mother would leave without a fight.
“There is much to do. Tell me, Charlotte Darling—why should I give you the amulet?”
“Because my organization will protect it.” My mother hit the word “it” hard, and I got the sneaking suspicion she wasn’t talking about the amulet.
“Protect it?”
“Yes … with our lives.”
“Use it.”
“If we can.”
“You can’t. Dostarious and I have tried. It is beyond the knowledge of anyone but the truly divine.”
“Hold on,” I cut in, turning to my mother. “I thought you said the amulet answered your greatest question.”
“It does, darling,” my mother said. “Now shush.”
Lizile nodded.
“So what’s all this cryptic shit of beyond the knowledge and protect it?”
Lizile leveled a raised eyebrow at my mother. “She does not know?”
My mother gave Lizile a deadly look and said, “She knows enough.”
“Indeed.” Lizile returned her unblinking gaze to me. “Your mother tells the truth … the amulet will answer its owner one and only one question. Oft, it is not the question asked, but rather the question that hides in the heart of those who ask. Many a fool have wasted its use by filling their heart with a meaningless or temporal query.”
Now it was my turn to lift an eyebrow. “Can I have an example?”
“ ‘Dost he love me?’ ” she spat. “Love is fleeting, it changes. The amulet may answer yes, for today he does, only to be wrong tomorrow when he does not. I wasted my question by asking ‘Can lead be turned to gold?’ when I should have asked, ‘How is lead turned to gold?’ Do you understand now?”
“Yes,” I said.
“So the bearer must be prepared—must meditate on their question, mold it in their heart, pursue it with every fiber of their being. This is why your mother is the perfect one to ask—”
“Enough,” my mother interjected. “Do not presume what my question would be. Nor presume that I intend to ask it a question at all.”
I looked over at my mother and saw an immutable sternness I hadn’t seen since I was a child.
“My apologizes,” Lizile s
aid. “I shall give you my half of the Amulet of Souol. But only in exchange for something I desire.” As she spoke she continued with her unwavering gaze at me.
I was beginning to get nervous.
Finally she said: “That your daughter and I have a few minutes together, alone.”
Why? I thought. If it was for a staring contest, I was a goner. But a part of me knew it would be something much more sinister, and I was probably a goner anyway.
NO STARING CONTEST, NO QUESTIONS, NO FUTURE
L izile persuaded my mother to not only leave us alone for a few minutes, but also to give up her half of the Amulet of Souol. There were a few rules my mother put in place, which mostly revolved around Lizile staying out of our relationship. Clearly Lizile believed my mother had a question she wished to ask—and even more clearly my mother didn’t want me to know what that question might be.
Note to self: ask my Psych prof, what is the technical term for “micro-managing, control-freak, nut-job”?
I half expected the strange former vampire to protest, but she just nodded, gave her half of the amulet to my mother without so much as a second thought and led me into a back room, gesturing for me to sit on an old cigar chair with cracking leather.
I sat and she gestured to see my hand. I thought she was going to read my palm or some crap like that, but with a speed I did not think possible for humans, she pricked my finger with her hair pin and collected a drop of my blood on a piece of glass.
I pulled away, sucking my finger. The taste of blood still repulsed me, after all these years. “What the hell?”
“Shush, girl. It is only a drop of blood. I wish to share knowledge, but knowledge should only be shared with those deserving of it. I must see your mettle, first,” she said, then, standing, she pulled out an old microscope I think I once saw at an apothecary’s lab in pre–Industrial Age London. She placed the glass under the microscope’s lens, adjusting its focus before smiling and looking up at me again.
“By the GoneGods … my brother was right.”
“About what? What did you see?”
Lizile ignored my question with a question of her own. “Do you know how to imbue an item with magic?”
I shook my head. “I’ve never really thought about it. I guess divine creatures transfer some of their magic into the item, right?”
“Really? Do you think a god would ever imbue this place with magic?” She waved her hand, drawing attention to our surroundings in a dismissive gesture, as if acknowledging that her place was less than pretty. Less than magical. So she was a self-aware vampire. How rare.
“So how do you keep the glamor going? You’re not an Other. You don’t have magic. When we entered, you mentioned something about depleting your resources …?”
“Significance. I long ago learned how to imbue a place or object with significance. Something easily done before the gods left, and perhaps by instinct or dumb luck, I managed to imbed this secluded cabin with much significance after they had left.”
“Significance?” I repeated.
“Yes. Significance.”
“Forgive me, but what is the significance of significance?”
She sighed, not hiding her disappointment in my lack of understanding (she was beginning to remind me of my Psych prof) and said, “Even the most powerful amongst the newly made mortals cannot give their magic to someone or something. Only a god can … it is one of the traits that makes them gods and not simply powerful Others.
“No, items become magical because of significance. Take this amulet, for example … it is over seven thousand years old, its first owner the Pharaoh of Narmer. Every night the Pharaoh would ask the amulet a question, placing it erect on the palace shrine. Then he would wait for the sun to rise. If the sun pierced the amulet’s center, casting a shadow on the Key of Life, he took it as an omen meaning ‘Yes.’ If the first shadow cast was partial or not at all, then the answer was ‘No.’ ” She chuckled. “In other words, the answers ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ solely depended on how cloudy the morning was.”
Worse than a Magic 8-Ball, I thought. You’d think he’d eventually clue in.
“Indeed,” she agreed to my out-loud thought. “He might have, but he placed so much significance on this ritual that in time—and much shorter than you’d expect—the amulet did start to answer his questions. And his children’s questions. More and more asked, prescribing more and more rules as to how to ask, and eventually we got this item before us. An amulet imbued with thousands of years of significance, and rules as to how to ask. Do you understand?”
I nodded. “Magic by mistake. No miracle required.”
She smiled. “So many items possess both minor and major magical properties. In fact, it was this very process that created the very first vampire.”
That caught my attention. “How so?”
“Have you heard of the Rooh Ina’ah? The Soul Jar?”
I shook my head.
She gave me an admonishing look. “You were never curious where your soul went when you were turned?”
“Heaven?” I said, with a bit of cheek thrown in to mask my indignity.
“More like limbo. Legend says that there is a jar—more of an urn, really—that holds the souls of all those turned. Vampires, werewolves. Everything infected. When the gods left, it is said that the urn was destroyed, thus letting our souls return to us.”
I thought about this. A jar that held our souls. I had always assumed that our souls went away, but never thought about where or how. It made sense that they would need a place to go, and I guess I had hoped it was a pleasant place. Seems that our souls weren’t so lucky. A jar. Or urn. Whatever. That sat on some shelf somewhere on Earth, abandoned.
“Interesting legend … but is it true?”
“We don’t know,” she said.
“OK,” I said, getting a bit bored of this cryptic, Look at me, I’m a scary vampire routine. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Promise me that you will not ask the Amulet of Souol a question until you are ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“To embrace your destiny.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Promise me,” she said so forcefully that I actually jumped in my chair. Not my proudest moment.
“OK, OK, I promise. Not that I understand what I am promising, but I promise.”
“Good,” she said, calming down. She handed me the glass plate that had my blood on it. “Destiny is held in blood … and your blood tells me that your destiny will be full of …” She searched for the words. “… choices and questions. I do not know what your fate will be, but I can tell you this … you will play a significant role in the war that is to come.”
I gulped, forgetting to breathe. “What war?”
“The war that will end everything.”
GOODBYES, CAR RIDES AND CRASHES
We left the strange alchemist vampire’s lair in silence, me clutching my glass slide of blood, both lost in our own thoughts. My thoughts went to everything that was messed up in my life. My boyfriend didn’t know who I was … and once he found out, he was going to leave me. My friends (boyfriend included) were hiding, afraid that the Divine Cherubs—the leader of whom used to leer at me while working for my father—would come after them … again, because of me. Some strange, possibly insane ex-vampire thought I was going to be instrumental for some upcoming war … but how? I was barely instrumental in managing my own laundry!
But I’ve met enough weird ancient creatures to know that you never dismiss their comments out of hand—no matter how nonsensical they may sound.
And if that wasn’t enough—I was failing Psychology 101.
OK, that last one wasn’t true. I could very well fail, but not until I didn’t pass Tuesday’s test. Of course, I’d need to show up first, and given the direction my mother was driving now, even that wasn’t a given.
I looked over at my mother as she held the steering wheel at 10 and 2. She stared ahead,
but I knew enough about how she operated to know that the road was the last thing on her mind. I wasn’t sure what my mother was thinking about—I guessed it was about the amulet. She needed to finish her mission. But I hoped she was also thinking about me and the lie—or, rather, omission of truth—that hung between us. She wasn’t telling me something, and it was obviously weighing on her. Whatever it was, it was going to piss me off. She knew it and now I knew it, too. But she also knew that not telling me would piss me off even more.
I reached into her purse and pulled out the amulet, putting it in my bag. If she wanted it back, she’d have to convince me to give it to her. Or fight me for it. Both were bad options, but given how banged up I was, fighting me might be the path of least resistance. And my mother was the “least resistance” kind of gal. But my mother didn’t even react to me taking the amulet. She just kept staring ahead. Part of me wondered if she even noticed.
I briefly considered that she was suffering from depersonalization disorder or anxiety-caused detachment—and that thought was immediately followed by my utter surprise for knowing those terms. Maybe I would pass my test, after all!
I shook away those thoughts—that would have to wait for Tuesday—and focused on my mother.
Still, so much had changed. For one thing, she saved me—twice. For another, she spoke of the “right” thing, and about saving people, and she lamented about how hard it was to be human. She even drove a Prius. Vampires were generally into the big, loud and pollution monsters … which didn’t make sense. If global warming was going to kill us all in a few thousand (hundred?) years, and you lived forever, you’d think the green movement would be led by vampires.
So either mother was changing or this was the greatest performance since the “I’m mad as hell” speech by Howard Beale in the movie Network (a little early for me—I’m more of a 1980s movie gal—but still a great film). Looking over at my distracted mother, I guessed it was a bit of both.
I also guessed that if either of us were going to get past any of this, now was the best time to get into it. But how did I start?