Oxford Blood

by Georgiana Derwent

  Harriet headed for her room feeling confused. Did the porters know about the existence of vampires? They certainly seemed to know about everything else that went on in the university.

  Her room looked strange emptied of all her stuff, but walking into it she felt a great sense of security. She quickly made herself a cup of tea and unpacked the necessities, keen to get the place back to how it had been all of last term. When she was satisfied, she decided to see who was about. There was no sign of Josh – the room next door was locked, and the absence of piano music suggested that he wasn’t hiding inside. Tom of course would be asleep, though whether in the room downstairs or in London she wasn’t sure. They’d spoken every few days, passionate conversations full of a longing to see each other, but Tom had been guarded on the details of where he was staying and when he’d be back. She’d tried not to feel too frustrated, sure that he had his reasons. Texts quickly established that Ben and Caroline wouldn’t be back until the following day, but that Olamide was already there and would love to come over for a drink.

  They settled down for a coffee and agreed that both their holidays had been fun but uneventful.

  “Have you done any revision for collections yet?” Olamide asked.

  Collections were exams that took place at the beginning of each term to see how much of the previous term’s work students had learnt. Harriet hadn’t done any work for hers so far but had a sinking feeling that Ola was about to announce that she’d but put in several hours of revision every day of the holidays, Christmas included.

  “No I haven’t,” she replied, trying to keep her tone light. She’d managed not to think about the exam over the holidays, but the nerves were now creeping in.

  “Oh I’m sure you’ll be fine. It’s not as if they count for much anyway,” Olamide said. Harriet noticed that she didn’t comment on how much work she’d done and shortly afterwards, Olamide made her excuses, clearly heading for the library.

  The next evening, Tom arrived. He offered little explanation of where he had been or what he had done over the holidays. They cooked a meal together and then quickly went to bed.

  “I’ve missed you,” she said. “Let me show you how much.” With that, she tilted her head back, exposing her delicate veins.

  Tom shook his head, clearly fighting an internal battle.

  “I want to, I swear. It feels so wrong that I’ve let George do it but never you. I want to feel that connection.”

  Tom was still making feeble protests as she drew his head down. She stroked his hair, holding him in place and finally, he could take no more and his fangs pierced her skin. Harriet gave a little cry and then settled down to the sensation and the feeling of closeness. After what felt like a blissful eternity but could only have been a few moments, Tom raised his head and kissed her passionately.

  “Now is it my turn?” she asked coquettishly. “If this blood bond really means so much, let me taste yours.”

  Tom shook his head. “I don’t want to seem selfish,” Tom said slowly. “I’d love to feed you in that way. But I’m not George. When we do it, I want us to have thought it through. I want it to mean something. Besides, I want George’s blood to have faded before I give you mine. I can’t risk you having too much.”

  Harriet wanted to argue, but supposed he knew best. After George and her mother’s scheming, at least his honesty was refreshing. Admitting defeat she took a few spoonfuls of her iron tonic instead, then snuggled up to Tom and fell asleep.

  ***

  That week couldn’t have been more different from the endless parties of fresher’s week. Whilst everyone was keen to go for a quiet drink and catch up after the holidays, nights out and wild parties were quite definitely off the cards until collections were over. The promise of a toga bop on Saturday was the only thing keeping them sustained.

  Harriet felt decidedly nervous as she went into the dining hall early on Friday morning to take the exam. It was rather surreal to see the place she associated with cheerful mealtimes silent and full of worried looking people. The exam was to last three hours. The thought of it made her feel exhausted.

  In the end, it wasn’t so bad. The combination of genuine interest, a few days of focussed revision and George’s ever-helpful memories meant that questions on the Civil War went smoothly, even if it took all her self-control not to mention vampires or write offensive things about Prince Rupert’s prowess as a commander. Her answers on the Dissolution of the Monasteries and factions at the court of Elizabeth I were less polished, but probably passable.

  Stepping out of the hall and into cloisters, she felt as though a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

  “Phew, that was grim,” said Caroline, falling into place beside her. “How was it for you?”

  “Oh alright I suppose. Could have been better, could have been worse. It’s over now at least.”

  “I’ll drink to that. I’m so glad I picked History. Ben’s back in this afternoon for another law exam and I think the PPE-ists have that and then a third tomorrow morning.”

  “No wonder people say History’s a dosser’s subject,” Harriet said, laughing. She couldn’t imagine having to go back in for another round.

  “Speaking of PPE-ists, where’s Tom? I know he’s not the keenest student, but surely even he isn’t going to miss collections?”

  Harriet wasn’t actually sure whether the college permitted the vampires to miss out on collections all together or whether they made special nighttime arrangements. “Oh, he’s dyslexic so he takes the exam by himself in a different room and gets extra time,” she said, with a sudden flash of inspiration. Someone had mentioned that that was what they were doing.

  “Fair enough,” said Caroline. “Now, what would you say to brunch at the Grand Cafe? Maybe with a glass of champagne?”

  ***

  The following night, once everyone had finished their collections, it was time for the first bop of term. The toga theme meant that it was easier than most, requiring no shopping, just creative use of the bed sheets. As usual, they gathered in Josh’s room. Harriet wondered whether to ask if she could invite Tom to the pre-party, but thought that might just push Josh too far. Tom was having his own gathering of his second year friends anyway, so they agreed to convene at the bop itself.

  Almost everyone had made an effort to dress up. There were copies of the new edition of the college’s gossip magazine, The Outhouse, detailing all the scandal of the last week of the previous term. Harriet wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or embarrassed that she and Tom had got a rather raunchy mention, as had Ben and Caroline.

  She a couple of glasses of wine and danced wildly with her group and slowly and closely with Tom, remembering how she’d tried to dance with him at her first bop, and enjoying the thought of how well things had progressed since. Katie was staring at them furiously, but didn’t say anything.

  Josh wasn’t dancing with anyone. He looked handsome in the toga, the white cloth setting off his olive skin. Harriet found the tan rather cheering after the vampires’ eternal pallor. Harriet was slightly surprised when he asked her to dance whilst Tom was off talking to some of his second year friends. Although they’d been spending a lot of time together over the preceding weeks, he’d been rather reticent with her. The first song was Summer of 69, and they basically just jumped around whilst holding hands, singing along to the chorus and laughing. Harriet was feeling happier than she had in weeks and felt a rush of affection towards him. As the song continued however, Josh pulled her in closer and slipped his arm around her waist. At first Harriet, lost in the music and the moment, danced against him and didn’t complain. When the song finished, she tried to pull away to go to the bar, but he kept hold of her hands.

  “Come on, one more dance. I hardly see you nowadays.”

  Harriet wasn’t in the mood for this. “Josh, no. We’re having fun. It was nice to dance with you, but I can’t cope with the way you’ve got to either hit on me or cause a scene every time we spend time tog
ether.”

  Josh was visibly shocked. “Bloody hell Harriet, I think all the attention you’ve been getting has gone to your head. You don’t have to worry. I don’t fancy you, okay.”

  Harriet was taken aback. “But you’re always trying to spend time with me alone. And you’re so hostile towards Tom and so ridiculously over-protective of me.”

  “It’s called being a good friend,” Josh said, shaking his head. “I’m worried about those posh bastards you insist on hanging around with and maybe it makes me a bit over-protective, but you’re just not my type. If you really want to know, there’s someone else I’ve got my eye on.”

  “Oh God, Josh, I’m so sorry,” Harriet said sheepishly, turning red and feeling unable to look him in the eye. “I’m not the sort of arrogant bitch who thinks she’s so gorgeous and special that everyone’s in love with her, I swear.”

  Josh nodded and walked off to speak to a group of music students. She didn’t see him again all night. For a while she just stood there, feeling horribly embarrassed about the misunderstanding. After a while however, she found Tom again and they danced more romantically than ever, her shame fading with every step.

  The party finished at two, but Tom issued an open invitation to his room for more drinks and music. The large sitting room area was almost filled to capacity, and the noise of the party could be heard all over the quad. Harriet wondered again why his parties never got broken up – did he use mind control on the college authorities or simply have some agreement with them? By the time the last guests were leaving, it was close to dawn and Tom had to get into his coffin. Harriet felt disappointed. All the close dancing they’d done at the party had made her horny and she’d wanted to curl up in bed with Tom. She briefly considered suggesting that she joined him in his coffin, but wimped out before the words were out of her mouth.

  ***

  The term progressed smoothly. Harriet had been bracing herself for another dead vampire or an attack by George, but nothing happened. She even avoided any outbursts from Katie. Feeling that she wasn’t missing much if she didn’t see a lot of the cold gloomy days, she began to follow a timetable not unlike Tom’s, getting up in the late afternoon and going to bed in the early hours.

  She attended the Union more and more and spoke to some senior people about the possibility of running for the committee. In the end, she allowed Harry to sway her into joining the same side, or slate, as him. Their Presidential candidate was Edward, one of last year’s Cavalier recruits, very beautiful, very ruthless and very gay.

  Catherine, the girl Harriet had met at the Cavalier’s dinner, was running for Secretary on the other side. Harriet wished that she was with her, as she seemed to be that rare thing - a genuinely nice candidates. A beautiful redheaded music student called Julia led that slate.

  “The slate the Cavaliers are supporting always wins,” she overheard a student say whilst drinking in the union bar. “They’ve got the money, the connections and the old members. It’s unfair really. Poor Julia is going to get destroyed and she’s so lovely. She’d be by far the better president. I can’t stand Edward.”

  “The really depressing thing is that it’s no different in the general election,” his companion said. “Everyone knows that their old members call the shots – they fund the candidates, control the newspapers enough to ensure that their favoured party gets all the best write ups, and God knows what else.”

  Hanging out with the slate, attending Union events and being seen at the right parties and other occasions began to take up most of her time and she became conscious that she was seeing less and less of her college friends. This wasn’t entirely one sided however. Olamide was studying hard as usual; Josh was endlessly practising and performing in a variety of choirs and orchestras. Caroline had started acting and was often at rehearsals. Ben was rowing, up early every morning to train with the college’s First Eight and to try out for the university lightweight team. She saw more of him than the others though, as being a wannabe Cavalier he was under the same sort of pressure that she was to attend the best parties and talk to the right people. She couldn’t imagine how little sleep he must be getting.

  Before Harriet knew it, it was seventh week, the penultimate week of term. The election was on the Thursday. That Sunday evening, Edward gathered them altogether in a hired room in his college, Balliol.

  “This is it. You’ve worked hard all term, so don’t let me down now. If I hear any stories or any of you having a night in this week, I’m going to be furious. Do the bare minimum on your essays – beg your tutor to postpone the deadline to next week if you can. Be everywhere. I want you at the Law Society, the Conservative Association, LGBT drinks, your colleges’ JCR meetings, debating, Torpids, and the bloody Doctor Who society if you can find out where it meets. I want you to go on to the pubs and the clubs. I want you inviting all those ‘friends’ that you last spoke to in fresher’s week out for coffee. I want you flirting with everyone; I don’t care how hideous they are.”

  He paused for effect. “And then once you’ve got them under your thumb, for heaven’s sake don’t be selfish – make sure they vote for me too.”

  ***

  Wednesday was the first day of Torpids, the major rowing competition for Hilary term. Ben was rowing for the college and there had been a longstanding plan for her to go and watch with Ola, Caroline and Josh. They met at the porter’s lodge, excited by the prospect of the racing and the chance to spend some quality time as a group.

  It was a pleasant walk to the boathouses, following the river along a path shaded by overhanging trees. There were swans and geese in the water and squirrels in the trees and although the March afternoon was chilly, it was bright and clear and seemed to suggest that summer was on the way.

  By the time they were halfway there, the usually tranquil area was loud with the cheers and shouts of the spectators. They crossed a bridge and the trees thinned out to reveal a wide towpath filled with overexcited students in various colleges’ hoods and scarves. They walked almost to the end of the path, where their college’s boathouse was already full of people, and climbed the boathouse stairs to watch from the balcony. They each bought a large glass of Pimm’s. The rowers were warming up on the path below, their tight Lycra outfits showing off bodies honed by weeks of training.

  “How lucky am I?” Caroline said, pointing down at Ben, who was looking very fit as he stretched.

  Harriet knew very little about rowing, but managed to follow proceedings. At the start of each race, about ten boats lined up in single file with a gap between each one. Once the race began, all boats set off at once, the objective being to “bump” the boat in front, either by literally bumping into it, or by overtaking it, at which point both boats would stop racing.

  There were some spectacular collisions and some tense moments. Ben’s boat started in third position in their race, behind Christ Church and Oriel. When they began to row, the entire boathouse screamed, urging them on. Oriel managed to stay a good way ahead at the front of the river, making it neatly over the finishing line, but Ben’s boat bore down on Christ Church and at the last minute managed to bump them. The boathouse erupted in cheers.

  Caroline ran down to meet the returning rowers and give the exhausted Ben a congratulatory kiss. There would be rowing for the next three days, and each time, the boats would start in the positions they’d finished in the previous day, meaning that tomorrow Lilith would be starting second with Oriel behind them, desperately trying to bump them and regain their place. The atmosphere was electric. The first days result didn’t really mean much, but success was success and everyone was happy with any excuse for a party. More Pimm’s and several bottles of cider were purchased. Nobody seemed in a mood to go back and do some work. Harriet watched Caroline and Ben embrace down on the path. Ben looked flushed with success, and had ripped off his top to show off his astonishing muscles.

  Harriet wished that Tom could have been there. So much happened at night in Oxford that it was
sometimes easy to forget that they could never be together in daylight.

  He’d have loved this. He’s very loyal to the college, he used to row and he adores a party.

  She felt sad suddenly, thinking about Tom’s pictures of his human student days decades ago.

  It must hurt that he can’t get involved. It hurts me that we can’t just stand here and enjoy the atmosphere like a normal couple. It’s going to be worse come Trinity. All the punting and picnics would have been so romantic and as the days get longer there’ll be less time that he can be around at all.

  “I’m going back to my room,” she said to Josh, who had been standing silently beside her whilst she brooded.

  “Really? It’s so nice here, and you’re hardly going to have time to come back down tomorrow.”

  “I know; I’m just suddenly not in the mood.”

  “I’ll walk back with you. You look exhausted. Don’t wear yourself out too much with this Union business.”

  Harriet considered protesting that she wanted some time alone, but decided that maybe some company would be nice after all. It had been too long since she’d had a proper conversation with Josh. Her relationship with Tom hadn’t exactly soured their friendship but it had certainly strained it.

  “So what’s wrong?” Josh asked once they were far enough along the river path that the crowds of people had thinned out. “And don’t say nothing, I saw you staring into space.”

  Harriet shrugged.

  “Is it Tom?” he asked, not quite managing to keep the hope out of his voice. “He was conspicuous by his absence today. I mean I know he never knowingly gets out of bed for a lecture, but even most of his sort managed to find the energy to come out for Torpids.”

  Harriet presumed that by ‘his sort,’ he meant lazy posh boys rather than vampires but the comment still hit a nerve.