Echoes & Silence Part 1

by Angela M Hudson

  Jase and I exchanged a grin. “I know. I did tell him I didn’t mean it.”

  “How’d he take that?” Jason asked.

  This time, Mike and I exchanged grins, and I lengthened my arm, extending my hand to present the empty chair of the king. “I’m not sure he was too happy about it.”

  “That smile might indicate otherwise,” Jase said, nodding to the other end of the room. Mike and I looked up as David waltzed in, clean shaven and as suave as ever. In fact, I’m sure all the vampires within a four-seat radius heard my heart skip a beat at the sight of this new David. I covered it respectfully with a little cough though, rising as the rest of the room stood.

  “Friends. Family,” David announced, standing between his seat and the table. “I’m sure some of you have already either met or know our guest, Lord Vampirie of Eden.”

  A few nods and soft vocal greetings filled the dead silence that followed the initial announcement, but my mind got lost in thought when I heard the way David pronounced my father’s Christian name: he used that fat French-sounding accent that Arthur had used, and it made me miss the old David—the one who spoke from his heart.

  “We will make a formal introduction tomorrow night at the festival,” he added. “In the meantime, you will address our guest as Lord Eden and keep your questions to a minimum. He has not returned to be ambushed with an inquisition.”

  Dad gave David a respectful bow and we all sat down again. But despite David’s warning, questions started flying down to their end of the table anyway before the appetizers were even served. They were mostly harmless questions, things like ‘Where have you been?’, ‘How have you been?’. Dad answered them in vague detail, giving, what I knew from the past he and I shared, mostly truths. He never mentioned having any family though, or any of his past occupations. He did mention an interest in the studies of History. But all the chatter and excitement stopped when one question I’d always wondered was thrown out there by Nate.

  “I must say, son, no one has ever asked about the origin of my name before,” Dad said, sitting back comfortably in his chair.

  Everyone else waited, silent. In fact, I was sure half the Lilithians in the room were holding their breath.

  “When I was born,” he started, “my mother knew I would be a child of immortal blood—cursed with the sins of herself and my father.”

  I remembered this from school: Cain killed Abel and was then banished to the Red Sea, cursed with a thirst for blood, where he met Lilith, God’s first created woman—still and eternally made in His image. Together, they bore a child that carried both their curses: immortality and a thirst for blood.

  “In those times, my parents spoke in the tongue of God—a language that has been lost to us for many millennia. But two words have survived: Vamiliantè, meaning bloodline, or blood, or even child. And the other word is I’rien,” he said, which sounded like ‘Eerie-en.’ “Which means my eternal. I was so named Vampirie—a name that would translate roughly to eternal child or immortal blood, if you like.” He saluted with his glass then took a sip.

  “And from that came a new race,” Walt added. “Vampires.”

  “So it’s just like Elizabethans or even Lilithians,” Nate said, issuing a nod to me before looking back at Dad. “You created the first vampires, so our species is named after you?”

  “That is correct.” Dad had a sparkle in his eye whenever he looked at Nate. He really had adored that kid. “When I turned the first woman just after my immortality set in, she was known to be made of Vampirie—otherwise termed a Vampirian. And after a while, as the number of Vampirians grew and the centuries passed, they were known quite simply as Vampires.”

  “Cool,” Nate said.

  “Not so cool if you were my mother,” Dad said with a grin. “You see, she concocted the word immortal child—a once beautiful and rare title that the world now associates with these myths and legends of creatures who drink blood and kill without care for the race they’re destroying. In her eyes, my name is tarnished and forever will be.”

  That got me thinking about names then—what I’d name my baby when she was born and how I’d feel if a breed of evil creatures she created was named after her. If they were evil vampire/witches they’d be Anandarians, I guess.

  I shivered at the very thought. We were definitely not using that name!

  “And you’ve been moved into the suite on the east end of the manor?” Margret asked, snapping me awake in time to notice her very obvious glare from David to me.

  “I have.” Dad gave David a stern look. “It was insisted upon by His Majesty.”

  Anyone could feel the king’s fury if they paused long enough to take note, but he smiled instead of bursting into flames and laid both hands flat to the table. “One cannot have the creator of all vampires sleep in a guest room.”

  “And what of your marital dysfunctions of late?” Margret probed.

  “We’ve laid those to rest,” he said, but a cold voice came through in my head, telling me he’d be sleeping in the Common Room, and all his personal effects that were already stacked up in my room, waiting for him to unpack, would be moved to Jason’s old room once he was gone.

  “I’m so very glad to hear that,” Margret said, giving a little clap, which a few others around the table offered too.

  I bowed to them one by one.

  “Then this means you will not be venturing to New York with our young scientific protégé?” Walt asked me.

  Protégé? I thought. Poor Jason. More like prodigy. “No,” I said. “And, to clear a few things up, we have no intentions of making any formal requests for marriage.” I shut out the reactions of those around me and looked across at David. He held my gaze with only slightly narrowed eyes, then broke it awkwardly to grab his glass. “There never was, or will be, anything between Jason and I,” I finished.

  “We’re just good friends, that’s all,” Jason added, flicking me an encouraging smile.

  “Then I imagine the king is looking forward to having his queen to himself again once Jason leaves,” Margret teased. “Since he’ll no longer be conducting tests and analyzing the queen’s powers.”

  David folded his napkin in his lap. “Relishing in the idea.”

  Hm, an eternity pretending to be married to me, I thought, smirking at him. Relishing wouldn’t even begin to describe your enthusiasm.

  He nobly pretended he didn’t hear my taunting. And I decided right then and there that if he was under some kind of spell that either made him hate me or at least want to hate me, I could have a bit of fun with this rather than to sit here drowning in the fear and despair of it all. None of what he did to me earlier tonight mattered right now, as far as I was concerned. It was forgiven, forgotten, because I didn’t believe, for even a second, that it was my David in control.

  And I did really love the look on his face when I made my feelings toward him known, especially in public. He couldn’t deny me or yell at me in a room full of people. In fact, if I wanted to walk right up to him and kiss him on the mouth, he’d have no choice but to kiss me back.

  “You look happy,” Mike said.

  I shrugged and nodded at the same time. “I just thought up this fun new game.”

  “Game?” Jase asked.

  I nodded, offering the thought to Jason because I couldn’t bring Mike in on it without David hearing: David can’t really display his hatred for me out in public. I can get away with almost anything, if I was creative enough.

  Jase laughed. You have a death-wish, Ara.

  Nah, he’s all talk—or maybe a hex, but I wouldn’t tell Jase that just yet, in case it stopped him from leaving this place to finally achieve his dreams—as long as I’m never alone with him, he won’t do anything to me where anyone would see it.

  Jason laughed, nodding.

  “What?” Mike cut in. “What are you talking about?”

  Jason looked right at him, and Mike’s eyes narrowed the way they do when he’s thinking really hard. Then
he nodded, smiling warmly at me.

  “You told him?” I asked Jase.

  “Yeah,” Mike said for him, and looked back at Jason, who communicated Mike’s thought directly to me: This mind-reading shit is pretty fun.

  I turned my head to grin at Mike and caught a flash glimpse of David, all his concentration aimed down here at us. But I also knew both Jason and I had put walls up while talking. There was no way David got in, and the disappointment on his face, as Mike, Jason, and I went on to talk about boring things, confirmed it for me.

  8

  The elastic on my butterfly-print pajama pants had given its notice. They barely stayed up now, sitting in a droopy moon shape just under my belly button, leaving a gap between themselves and my light pink, almost see-through top. If anyone saw me walking around the manor right now, I would be mortified. Then again, if anyone was out of bed at this hour, it would likely only be close friends. I hoped.

  But, really, I figured I could sneak down to the kitchen and be back in my room with a hot coffee before any of the servants even rose for their morning duties. Except I hadn’t counted on a flight-powers-required level of difficulty in reaching the coffee tin on the top shelf of the pantry. It was definitely built with Chef’s height in mind, but he should have at least provided ropes and a compulsory climbing course for midnight-snackers.

  I tried climbing the lower shelves, but let’s just say that failed in a rather embarrassing way—one that made me glad the pantry had a door to hide behind. My second attempt had ended in a mental note being made to work on my ‘super vampire’ jumping skills, and when I found a bread crate under the shelf, stuffed between a damp box of potatoes and a huge sack of flour, my third attempt began. But even on my toes, on the crate, reaching so high my shirt rode up, completely revealing my belly button, the tin was just a fraction out of reach.

  I cursed my lack of height then, half-contemplating a cold juice instead. But since I’d planned this to be a quick trip to the kitchen, I hadn’t bothered with socks or slippers, and now my feet and fingertips, and belly, were laced with frost. I really needed a hot drink. Besides, I couldn’t sit by the fire and read my book, sipping on a cup of cold juice! It just wasn’t right.

  “Hey,” said a smooth, gentle voice.

  My gut clenched with a simultaneous rush of excitement and dread, the emotional mix pushing my heart up my throat. I closed my eyes, mentally prepared myself, then glanced over my shoulder at the green-eyed vampire standing at a slant on the doorframe, his arms folded: Nice David.

  Great. Now I wasn’t sure whether to play Hurt Ara and pretend I was mad about what he did this afternoon, so the ever-watching Morgana wouldn’t suspect I suspected foul play, or play Nice Ara and risk messing up the plan to break the supposed hex.

  I wanted to be nice. Those eyes and that kind smile made me weak to my core—made me want to tell him that I was okay after he tried to choke me, and that I was sorry he was clearly suffering so much. But feelings had a time and place, and right now playing the game was more important than letting him know that I loved him enough to see through his mask.

  “You’re trying to decide if you should talk to me or not, aren’t you?” he asked delicately.

  I turned away and reached up for the coffee tin again. “Yes.”

  “Need some help?” He appeared at my side on a small box, his long torso just inches away from my little pot belly, his arm mirroring mine in a grab for the tin. I realized then that he was asking if I wanted help to get the tin, not help deciding if I should talk to him.

  “I’m fine,” I said coldly, extending my arm higher as an excuse to lean into him just a little more.

  He didn’t recoil, though. He stood stern and straight like a pillar—or a challenge—his hand on the tin for another second, then released it and smiled smugly down his nose at me. “Stubborn little thing, aren’t ya?”

  “No,” I grunted, taking a little jump to help my reach, but as my feet left the makeshift ladder, my fingers scraped the sides of the tin and spun it away, catching me off guard long enough for the crate to shift quickly out from under my feet.

  “Whoa.” David wrapped both hands firmly around my ribs, holding me up while he kicked the crate aside and guided us both safely back down, bringing me to my usual height.

  “Thanks.” I closed my eyes for a second, memorizing every inch of him against me that way—the top of my head sitting just below his gloriously defined chin; the breath from his nose brushing my hair in light wisps around my brows—then stepped respectfully and reluctantly back. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Do what?” He jumped up and scooped the tin down in one move. “Stop you from falling on my daughter and killing her?”

  “Daughter? You mean this daughter?” I motioned to Bump. “The one you want gone—out of your sight?”

  He held a breath as though he meant to speak, but nothing moved except his Adam’s apple.

  “What are you even doing here, David?” I asked, just barely holding back the need to cry. It suddenly became clear that perhaps some of what he said and did today may have seeped its way inside my soul and festered into a bit of a sore spot. “Are you here to reinforce just how mean you can be?”

  “I just came in for a drink.” He handed me the tin and turned away.

  “Wait.” I rushed forward and grabbed his sleeve. “Please don’t go.”

  “I think it’s best for us both if I do, Ara.”

  “Just…” I let go of his sleeve.

  “Just what?”

  My tongue moved to say I miss you. I love you. I want you to stay, even if we argue all night. But I stopped myself and said, “Can I make you a coffee before you go back to bed?” instead.

  “Look—” He eyed the coffee tin. “You’re a reasonable person, Ara. I know that.”

  I waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t. “But?”

  He plucked the tin from my hands. “Coffee won’t help you sleep. Trust me. How ’bout I make you a warm milk instead?”

  A victory smile smeared across my lips as he left the pantry. “Promise you won’t poison it?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  I followed him back into the kitchen, thinking about the degraded act I’d seen him fantasizing about earlier. “I saw what you wanted to do to me, David. You know I did. And I—”

  “I know.” He put the coffee tin on the table as he headed for the fridge, opening the cool autumn to a frosty artificial chill before saying, “But if I asked you not to bring it up tonight, do you think you could just talk about something else?”

  “Why?”

  “Because anything I have to say in defense of myself, Ara, it—” His shoulders dropped, and he pinched the bridge of his nose—his new favorite move. “I know you. I know I can make things okay between us with just a few words. But that’s…” He put the milk on the table and sighed. “That’s not good for either of us.”

  “Why?”

  The coy grin he flashed made his eyes sparkle. “God, you’re like a small child. Stop asking why.”

  “Why?” I asked, but only to be annoying. And I was rewarded with that soft, gentle laugh of his that made my skin tingle.

  His gaze stayed on my arm for a moment as if he could see the physical effect he had on me, see the hairs rise in response to him, then moved it away slowly. “If we’re to coexist, as you so blatantly insist by not leaving, we need to talk nothing of our”—he cleared his throat—“regrets.”

  “So you regret it—the way you acted this afternoon?” I asked, baring my teeth in a show of cheekiness, and I thought he’d caught on—knew that I was prodding out of amusement, not actually seeking an answer—but then he said, “I can’t answer that,” which piqued my curiosity, resulting in a true “Why?” from me this time. But he just smiled again and replied with, “Do you like honey and cinnamon—in your milk?”

  I shrugged. “Never tried it.”

  Both his brows went up in consideration. “Then you’re
in for a treat.”

  No, the real treat was having David all to myself for the next few minutes.

  “Take a seat,” he offered. “I’ll bring it over when I’m done.”

  I slid the heavy oak chair out from the table, planted my butt on the cold wood and then, just sitting back, watching David move about the kitchen from what seemed like afar, I got a true sense then of what we’d missed out on as a “normal” couple. He looked good in the kitchen. Looked more human here.

  “Wow,” I teased, “you even know where the saucepans are.”

  “You, my dear, would be surprised by exactly how much I do know,” he countered, closing the cupboard door then laying the saucepan on the stovetop. He added nothing else after that, almost as if the comment had been an absentminded one and he hadn’t even realized he spoke—a bit like my mom would do when she was cooking, and I’d sit there talking about random stuff.

  He reached for the box of matches on the windowsill then, igniting the gas under the saucepan with a swift strike, blowing the match out after and laying the pot aside. Just doing simple things, really: mundane tasks and yet, I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

  Every move he made, every time he leaned forward or bent over, my eyes followed the sleek line of his thin arms and the nobs of bone down his spine—every inch that was him. No matter how thin or sickly he looked, I was completely and utterly infatuated with him. Besides, skinny or not, he still had those dark, mysterious and yet slightly menacing green eyes. And when it came to him and me in a room of fantasy, those eyes would be all I’d really see.

  Next, he took out two mugs, considered them for a moment, then tipped them at an angle to look inside, and placed them on the counter before looking back to catch me staring. “The curled lip,” he explained sheepishly.

  “The what?”

  He picked up the dark brown mug and showed me the lip. “You like the curled ones, right?”

  I eyed the mug, noting the difference between the fatter, squarer rim on the white mug and the thinner, curvier one on the brown one. “Yeah. I guess I do.” But it surprised me that he’d noticed. I’d never actually spoken of my mug preferences.