by Tanith Frost
That, or he’s gone soft. I doubt that’s even possible for him.
Naya swings her feet out of the way as he crouches and opens the drawer. He offers no other explanation, and she doesn’t ask for any. I guess she’s used to vampires by now. We tend not to feel any need to explain ourselves or to go out of our way to be liked.
“We should probably get some rest, unless you need anything else,” I say.
The humans exchange a glance. “We’re fine,” Sean says. “Naya will be off duty as soon as we make sure everyone’s settled for the day.”
“Nice, quiet day shift. Lucky bastard.” Naya stretches, then rests her head on the back of her chair and closes her eyes. “Have a good day,” she tells us, without opening them again. “Sweet dreams. Or not, as the case may be.”
It’s disconcerting to hear humans speak so casually of our habits and biology. The elders must trust them, though.
And I’m willing to bet there were no vampires willing to take their jobs.
Daniel selects a handful of files and closes the drawer, and I lead the way up the stairs.
Edwin is standing at the top. He doesn’t look like a fellow who’s recently taken a face-first three-storey plunge, though a purple bruise is blossoming on his left cheek. That will be gone soon enough. The fact that it’s showing at all is impressive; with our weak blood and lack of circulation, we don’t bruise easily.
He’s changed his clothes, and now wears a bright blue blazer over a yellow t-shirt and white pants. The sleeves are rolled up, revealing a messy scar running up the inside of his left forearm. I try not to stare, but I’ve never seen anything like it on a vampire.
We heal at death, becoming perfect versions of our living selves. I can’t imagine what it would take to scar us that badly afterward.
“Considering another leap?” Daniel asks.
“Beats doing nothing, don’t it?” Edwin says. He’s got a thick New England accent. “Got a light?” He pulls a cigarette from the pocket of his blazer.
“Sorry,” Daniel says.
Edwin sighs. “Nobody’s ever got a fuckin’ light.” He heads down the stairs, taking them calmly, one at a time.
“Okay,” I whisper as he disappears from view. “That was the same guy who screamed at the sunrise and crashed our arrival party, right?”
Daniel is already flipping through a file, and motions for me to follow him into his room. He sets the rest of the folders on his bed and closes the door behind me.
“Same guy,” he says. “Apparently he’s quite unpredictable.” His lips tighten as he frowns at the page. “He’s been around a while, though he’s not nearly as old as the others. Bit of a loose cannon, but useful in the early clan days.” He flips the paper over. “He was quite keen on keeping up with the times until the mid-eighties. And then he gave up. No one is entirely sure what’s going on in his head. He gets aggressive at times.”
“With the staff? Naya seemed fine with him.”
Daniel scans the rest of the file. “Not so far. But he didn’t come here voluntarily. He was committed, and takes up more of the caretakers’ time than any of the other residents. Likes to try to escape. And is apparently not a huge fan of the living.”
“Hence the security system, I suppose.”
Daniel nods. “More to keep them in than anyone else out, I’d say.”
I sit on the edge of the bed. “But things have been fine for however long he’s been here. They don’t really need me, do they? They haven’t had vampires working here before.”
Daniel closes the file and sets it with the others, then crouches in front of me. “They asked for help. Miranda sent it.”
“It’s more than that, though. Why me? Why now?”
“Why overthink it?”
I force a smile. Daniel doesn’t know about my deal with Miranda. She didn’t order me not to talk about the dubious mercy she showed me, but I think I should stay silent if I want her to keep her end of the deal and not share my sins with the world.
“You’re right,” I say. “I’m sure it was just a case of me being available, and the humans finally becoming a squeaky enough wheel that the elders responded.” I chew my lower lip as I think it through, drawing my left fang slowly over my skin. There’s more to this assignment. I know there is. But it’s nothing Daniel needs to worry about.
He made his view of our relationship abundantly clear when he left me at the sanctuary. He confessed his desires, his wish to have me for himself alone. I can’t say the idea wasn’t appealing, even if my desires run far deeper than the physical pleasure he described. But that’s not allowed in a world that demands loyalty to clan, elders, and self, and Daniel plays the game far too well to let me trip him up.
There will always be distance between us. I’ll tell him if I have a problem he can solve, and keep the rest to myself.
“Let me know if you find anything interesting in those files,” I tell him. “I’m going to get some sleep.”
He rests one hand on my knee and traces circles with his thumb. “You don’t want to stick around for a bit?”
When his eyes meet mine, I want to. The same feelings I had back in the car return in a flood, and it’s all I can do not to tackle him and finish what we started before we were interrupted.
“Not today,” I tell him, and resist the urge to explain more. He’ll expect me to have learned something by now, to be a better vampire than I was before. Secretive, self-sufficient. I’d hate to disappoint him.
He stands and opens the door for me. A frown shadows his brow, and for the briefest moment I catch something like confusion in his expression.
I know that feeling all too well.
It’s not until I’m alone in my room, lying flat on my back on the bed with the curtains drawn tight around me, that I can think.
Who are these vampires?
They’re the lost ones. The rejected. The ones who didn’t fit in, who don’t play by the rules. I don’t know their stories yet, but that much is clear.
Trent is a mystery. He’d terrify any sane human who met him, but is that enough for him to be locked away? He’s obviously powerful. There has to be more to his story for Miranda to not be using him in some capacity.
Genevieve has a big personality, nothing like the quiet dignity the elders embody and that we’re supposed to emulate. She’d stick out if she was released into the wilds of modern humanity.
Edwin is unpredictable, maybe unhinged, almost certainly dangerous.
Lucille and Hannabelle are baking cookies for living humans. Is that something like the connection I felt to the living not so long ago? Are they here because of similar faults?
I roll over onto my side and tuck one arm under the fluffy pillow Trent would probably despise as a needless indulgence.
I don’t know what Miranda wants from me, but maybe this assignment is a warning of what I could become if I don’t shape up, get in line, and prove myself worthy of the gifts I’ve been given. This is what happens to misfits, to rogue spirits. Those who don’t toe the line.
Sleep creeps up on me more slowly these days than it did before Silas’ power changed me. My thoughts drift as my body relaxes. I can feel it already. I’ll dream tonight.
Maybe it’s for the best that Daniel and I are sleeping apart. I can’t let him—or anyone—see how I’ve changed. It may not make me more of a threat, but it makes me different.
And now I understand exactly what different could mean for me.
Chapter Six
“It’s all gone to hell, that’s what’s happened.”
Trent stands with his back to me and Daniel, looking out the big window at the dark waters of the ocean like he’s daring the sunrise to come face his wrath.
Daniel’s got a book about shipwrecks on his lap that he’s paging through, but he’s obviously not reading it or looking at the pictures. He’s been strange the past few days. Not strange for anyone else, but for him. He’s relaxing. It’s weird.
Treati
ng a non-stock human with something like respect was just the tip of the iceberg. He’s been reading about stuff that has nothing to do with anything I’d expect him to take an interest in. Yesterday, he did the dishes for Hannabelle and Lucille after they decided to switch to making sugar cookies decorated with black bats, and today he helped Lucille haul some mysterious cardboard boxes out of the attic when she asked.
He’s given me my space, and since I declined to stay in his room with him the other morning, it’s been like nothing happened in the car. We talk, but not about anything of much consequence. He’s calm. Pleasant. Undemanding.
It’s a little disconcerting. I’m not used to seeing him like this, alert but not on guard, offering assistance instead of taking charge. I’ve always known what to expect from Daniel, or at least thought I did. I feel off balance, and without sex or work to connect us I’m almost scared to look for anything else.
So I’ve kept my distance, and it’s been really fucking awkward. I appreciate him respecting my desire for space, but I wouldn’t mind a bit more intrusion, just so I know where we stand. I haven’t forgotten the overwhelming desire of just a few nights ago, though it seems like he has.
Trent clears his throat. “Laziness, that’s what it is. Time was when we had to fight for what we wanted. We hunted, we learned to hide ourselves away, and we suffered the consequences if we slipped up and someone discovered us. Pitchforks. Torches. Hand-crafted wooden stakes.” He sounds almost wistful.
“And now?” I ask, and he turns. He seems startled, like he forgot there was anyone here listening to him pontificate.
“Clubs. Stock.” He spits the words out. “It’s easy, safe. No one gets hurt.” Disgust drips from his voice.
“Is that so bad?”
Daniel places a hand over his mouth to hide a smile. I catch it in his eyes, though he’s still looking at his book.
Trent glares at me. “It’s not what we’re here for.” His black eyes narrow, and his heavy, greying eyebrows pull together in a glare that would chill me if I weren’t so intent on hearing his response. Miranda may want me here as a warning, but I’ve realized that it’s a perfect opportunity to gather information no one else will give me. These vampires are old enough that they remember a time before the clan system, and know stories from before everything was sanitized.
I have questions about our origin and purpose, stuff that might help me accept my nature and take my proper place among vampires before I risk becoming an outcast forever. I don’t expect hard answers, but these guys might at least be able to share ideas that would be more useful than what I’ve got now.
Legends, even. Lore. My unbeating heart thrills at the notion.
“When were you made?” Trent asks, though it sounds more like an accusation than a question.
“Three years ago, give or take.”
His hard gaze shifts to Daniel. “What about him?”
“Died nineteen forty-four,” Daniel says without looking up.
“And what year is it now?”
“Well into the two thousands,” Daniel answers. The caretakers have cautioned us against using dates too much. Most of them are okay with understanding how quickly time is passing, but it can be disorienting for others.
“Babies,” Trent scoffs, and it’s my turn to hide my smile. I’m used to seeing Daniel as my superior, someone much older and more worthy of respect than I am. I suppose it’s all about perspective.
“What about you?” I ask, feeling bold. “How far back do you remember?”
Trent just glowers at me.
“I’d like to hear about what it used to be like,” I add. He seems like he wants to rant about it, and I’m ready to listen.
He looks out over the ocean one more time. “No point,” he says, more to himself than to anyone else, or so it seems. “Piss off.”
I’d argue, but there doesn’t seem much point. Apparently ranting is only fun if the audience is unwilling. I stand and leave without another word, and Daniel follows me into the hallway.
“Not getting what you want?” he asks, a glimmer of amusement still visible in the curve of his lips.
I lean against the wall outside my room. “You can’t tell me you’re not curious about what it was like before.”
Daniel died decades after the formation of the clan system and was re-created into a world completely different from the one Trent knew for so long.
“It would be interesting to find out. I’m not sure it’s important.”
“You don’t think it matters why vampires exist?”
He rolls his eyes. It’s not dramatic, but it’s there. “People have been seeking that kind of information for thousands of years and don’t seem to be anywhere near a proper answer, and you think you can figure it all out by poking that old bear?”
I lean against the doorframe and rub my shoulder against the wood, easing an itch that was only mildly irritating. I haven’t been bothered by such things much since I died. Sometimes I almost miss it. If you don’t feel the itch, you never get the satisfaction of the scratch.
Daniel’s gaze drops, just for a moment, observing the movements of my body. I smile. That look puts me back in familiar territory with him.
He leans against the wall beside me, and his arm brushes mine. I shiver as my skin prickles with a different kind of itch, one I’d very much like him to scratch for me.
“You thought you had answers once, didn’t you?” he asks me.
I ignore the little pang of pain that still tugs at my heart when I think of my life. “I thought… yeah.”
His eyes meet mine again, and in an instant he’s his old self, my concerned trainer who reluctantly let me acknowledge my connection to life in order to help me adjust to death. He doesn’t ask more, just waits.
I sigh. “I did once, okay? I was raised believing that The Bible Tells Me So was the answer to every question. It felt safe and simple. But as I got older, I realized that the odds of one group of people having an exclusive claim on truth was kind of sketchy.” I swallow hard as the memory of old uncertainty echoes through me. “As time passed, doubting it felt right. But I guess believing felt safe.”
Daniel nods. “The unknown is frightening.”
“Exactly. So maybe I do want answers like that now. And I know Trent doesn’t have all of them, but how are we ever supposed to piece anything together if we never talk about it?”
“Maybe we’re not meant to know. Any of us.”
I close my eyes. I’ve tried so hard to leave my humanity and my life behind. I felt the change in myself after I died, and again after I killed. I’m a different creature now. And while I’ve mostly let go of the idea that human beliefs have any bearing on me, I still want that sense of purpose, to know that I’m not just a random speck of cold chaos like some seem to think we vampires are. I want all of this to mean something.
Daniel’s hand brushes against mine, and he traces a finger over the sensitive skin of my inner wrist. “You take too much on yourself,” he says. “Too many questions and distractions, when the world here and now is yours for the taking.” His voice is soft, and his breath tickles my ear.
If there’s one thing Daniel’s good at—and there are an infuriating number of them—it’s getting me to forget questions and distractions. Aside from blood, I can’t think of anything more tempting than his body.
I wonder how good the soundproofing is in these walls. It’s probably shit.
I don’t think I care.
Genevieve’s door creaks open, and Daniel leans back as though nothing’s been happening. It takes me a moment longer to compose myself.
“Tricky questions,” the old vampire says as she steps into the hallway, tying the sash on a filmy pink robe as she closes the door behind her. Her voice is harsh after Daniel’s seductive whisper, and I wince.
Daniel crosses his arms and nods a friendly hello to Lucille and Hannabelle as they arrive at the top of the staircase leading up from the kitchen. “What are your thou
ghts on our origin?” he asks Genevieve.
“Demons,” the old vampire says, in a tone that indicates this is juicy gossip, in spite of the fact that she’s speaking loud enough for anyone on the floor to hear. Her eyes sparkle.
Hannabelle and Lucille pause outside the sitting room door. Lucille paces closer, listening. Hannabelle just stands wide-eyed, jaw clenched tight.
Genevieve gives them a quick glance before turning back to me. “Not everyone is keen on the idea, of course, but look at the facts. We’re soulless creatures, animated by what we call the void, but what is that?” She doesn’t leave space for anyone to answer. “Darkness. That which God himself created light to push back.”
My skin chills beyond its usual state.
“You’re saying we’re what, evil?” I ask, and Daniel smirks. I shoot him a dark glare. “Some of us might be,” I add under my breath.
Genevieve shrugs and tosses her hair back over her shoulder. “We can’t enter a church or any other proper house of worship without suffering and perishing. We’re made to kill humans, to destroy what’s supposedly the pinnacle of creation. What else are we to assume?”
Hannabelle presses a fist to her mouth and chokes back a sob, then runs toward us, pushes past Genevieve, and heads up the staircase toward the third floor.
“That was mean,” Lucille says, and for the first time since I’ve met her she sounds like a vampire, strong and aware and possibly deadly. “You know how it vexes her to hear talk like that.”
Genevieve sighs. “As though it does her any good to deny it.”
Naya appears at the landing at the end of the hall. “What’s going on?”
“Hannabelle is upset and ran off to cry,” Genevieve tells her.
“Do you want me to check on her?” I ask, though I want nothing more than to stay here in case the conversation continues. I don’t want Genevieve to be right. I just want ideas, and Lucille looks like she might have a thing or two to say.