The Turned

by A A Mize

  Even without her lies, it’s easy to worship her. She is strong, beautiful, and confident. Much like Marguerite. Perhaps that is what sparked the memory of Yvette. If that’s so, it’s a good thing that I was consumed by the memory of her, or I might have Turned Marguerite. The world can’t handle two like Yvette.

  I don’t remember returning home. The damn corrupted memory kept me in a painful haze. Once the it faded, I was in my study with pen and paper at the ready. I wanted to write about the experience last night, but I was far too drained to form a cohesive thought. I think giving myself time to process it all and come down from the effects of Yvette have helped record the event properly.

  I really must find a way to block that nonsense from happening again. It’s not dignifying in the least. I hear Matthias stirring. I have been here far longer than I intended.

  Rowan was right. Somehow, he had managed to pass away most of the day by losing himself in the memory of Marguerite and Yvette. Matthias could be heard shuffling down the hall in his usual pre-dusk routine. Rowan listened as his Pupil plodded down the stairs. He could even hear the coffee maker begin to gurgle, a habit of Matthias’s that he had yet to break. The boy had loved coffee since he was in his teens, and though it no longer allowed him a burst of energy, he claimed to enjoy the taste and continued to drink it.

  The smell didn’t sit well with Rowan this morning. His stomach was still churning, but he had no appetite. Yvette would no doubt plague his mind until he was at work again and had a task to occupy him. Only then would he be free of the thought of her. He would he return to normal, all signs of the gray gone, and the taste of blood would satiate him once more.

  The hours that had passed so swiftly had left his neck with an ache that merely stretching couldn’t touch. His slim fingers rubbed the tense muscle for a few moments, letting the pain subside.

  While he waited, kneading his muscles, deep brown eyes shifted to the trash bin where earlier he had tossed aside the broken vase. He paused for a moment, taking in the beauty of the vase’s design, as damaged as it now was. Gently he removed the pieces from the bin and laid them on his desk. After all, the vase could always be repaired.

  4

  Three cups of coffee in and Matthias was seriously wishing he had the same reaction to caffeine that he used to when he was a human. He stared at the bottom of the empty cup with distaste. Had becoming Turned been worth it without the satisfaction of a cup of Joe on a cold winter’s morning? Right now, the answer was an unequivocal no. Not that he had been given the choice.

  Pre-dusk for them was predawn for a normal human, and Matthias hated it more than anything else. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, letting his elbows rest on the granite top of the kitchen island. Thick fingers pushed back his disheveled blond hair.

  The weekend had been far too long and now it was time to get back to the nightly grind of bartending. How he had managed to get a holiday off was still beyond him and a part of him thought it might have been better if he had worked instead. His head was killing him, much the same way it would have if he was human and had a hangover. It was basically the same thing for a Turned, just intensified. True death sounded preferable at a time like this. He was sure any Turned or human would agree.

  Recording the events of the weekend would prove difficult later. Matthias had really let himself go wild over the holiday and his memory hadn’t held up to its potential. Samiell would be expecting a complete journal at the end of the year, but Matthias was sort of over it. Not that he minded writing down important things pertaining to his existence, as it was essential to document anything imperative to the Turned collective history but having to write almost daily was becoming a task he enjoyed less and less as the years passed.

  The journals were required for Lesser Turned, as more important members of their community, such as Leaders like Rowan, had weekly paperwork that had to be completed for the official files of their Elders and the human government.

  Personally, Matthias wasn’t sure why individual histories were so important if they didn’t have anything to do with changing the Turned community. He was just an alcoholic, a junkie with no plans to contribute anything great to his new people. Living life the way he wanted for all of eternity was his only concern. Damn the rest.

  Rowan crept into the kitchen, silently making a cup of coffee for himself before joining Matthias at the island. Typical “morning” routine. Matthias’s cool blue eyes shifted over to his Mentor, taking in the pink hues of his normally milky complexion. The pair sipped the warm brew without a word between them. For some time they sat in silence, until Matthias took a sideways glance at Rowan from across the island.

  “What happened to you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Bullshit. I heard you earlier. That was a lot of noise and a pretty shade of pink for ‘nothing’. You forget to close the curtains in your study?”

  Rowan’s only answer was a sharp glare in Matthias’s direction.

  Matthias sipped his coffee in an attempt to hide a faint smirk. Even with a hangover he could appreciate the humor of his Mentor’s pink sunburn. However, Rowan caught the expression and retaliated by giving Matthias the finger. That made his Pupil chuckle. He’d noticed how Rowan had begun to pick up on mannerisms and language that he might not have used otherwise.

  “Classy,” Matthias joked, rinsing out his mug.

  “Samiell issued me a new alias. Dominic LaCroix.”

  “I’ll try to remember. Wonder what I’ll get saddled with?”

  “There’s no telling.”

  “Well, I’m off to make the world a better place,” he stretched his arms high over his head, cracking his fingers.

  “Ah, have you finally decided to see if there’s an afterlife? Knife, poison, or bullet? I’d be more than happy to aid you in your experiment,” Rowan said darkly, only a hint of jest in his voice.

  “Oh ho! He’s got jokes today.” Matthias laughed. “Well, Pinkie, I’ll see you later,” he quipped before leaving Rowan alone in the kitchen.

  Once out in the street, Matthias locked the door behind him and merged seamlessly into a large group of tourists on their way to Bourbon Street, their necks laden with colorful beads. Matthias rolled his eyes. Carnival wouldn’t start for a few days, but these idiots had still managed to lose their money to a scam. He’d seen it time and again since he was a kid; the age-old tricks people used on tourists to make a quick buck. They’d toss beads around some poor guy’s neck and welcome him to the city, then ask for money for the beads. Or they’d come up and say they bet they knew where they got their shoes only to say something like, “you got em’ on Bourbon Street.” You could see them all the time shining shoes on the feet of bewildered tourists who were too polite to say no.

  Matthias never understood why tourists allowed themselves to be conned so easily, but he just shrugged it off and said they should have done their homework before visiting. Besides, there was so much more to the city than Bourbon Street, but hey, if they wanted to waste time at the bars and strip clubs, maybe they deserved to get cheated. Frankly, he was a little surprised to see a group coming from this area, as the street here was normally calm, but not so strange that he felt they were completely out of place.

  The tourists crossed the street at the corner when he turned left, not one of them any more aware of his departure than they were of his arrival. Ahead, he could see lights from Jackson Square through the fog that had begun to settle. It added a strange eerie glow to the area that gave him a prickle of delight up his spine. It was a scene straight out of an old monster movie where the minion of darkness stalked through the streets, a shadow in search of its next victim. He was that shadow. He was a hunter of men now.

  Matthias grinned and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his black trench coat. The chains across the chest jingled a little with every step he took. That was what had drawn him to it in the first place. Where Rowan was more Victorian or Gothic in his style, with his plush
fabrics and deep regal colors, Matthias was hard and rough around the edges. Straps, chains, and buckles suited his aesthetic far more, and added some confidence to his already cocky stride. The style was something he picked up on when he lived on the streets. It made him look tough and he liked that.

  As he passed the black iron fence on the edge of the Square, tarot reader nearby beckoned him, but he turned he paid the old lady no mind and passed her without a word. He didn’t have time for that crap, even if it had been something he believed in. It was always kind of funny to him that so many people had their cards read under the watchful facade of the St. Louis Cathedral. The readers lined their tables up facing the church, candles dancing across their faces in a way that only added to the mysticism of it all.

  He passed through the little alley beside the cathedral where he caught sight of the Crow’s Nest. Some patrons were already enjoying their drinks outside at the tables, laughing and retelling the stories of their weekends. Matthias passed with little more than a quick glance, only to be accosted by the owner of the bar, Mamma, who quickly spun him out of his coat and into a half apron before assaulting him with a barrage of cursing about his tardiness.

  When his boss passed through the door, Matthias followed her, placing a kiss on the middle-aged woman’s cheek. “Hey, Mamma,” he greeted with a smile.

  Her face flushed, and she slapped at him with a laugh. “Imma show ya momma if yer late again, Lukas Beaumont” she replied with a thick drawl. “Get yerself back there an’ serve da customers. Useless git.” She then chuckled before waving him off.

  Matthias took his place behind the bar, smiling to himself as he watched Mamma walk out to check on the customers outside. The lady was not his mother, but she had been a major influence in his life since he was a teenager and he loved her dearly.

  Mamma’s real name was Francine Benoit. She had short, black hair, rich umber skin, and brown eyes so light they shone like honey in the neon lights. She was a heavyset woman, but stout and strong as an ox, with a stubborn streak to match. Matthias was lucky enough to have her wrapped around his little finger, as much as she would hate to admit it. Truth be told, he was wrapped around her finger as well.

  Looking back, Matthias had more memories of Mamma than of anyone else in his family. He was far wilder in his youth than he was now, and that was a stretch since he was still a heathen, or so Rowan told him. Back then he roamed the streets with little regard for his own wellbeing. That might have been his downfall in the end, and ultimately the reason he was Turned.

  When he first met Mamma, she had spied Matthias stealing an adult magazine from the store across the street from her shop. Never had he been dragged anywhere by his ear, but she did. She pulled him across the street and forced him to give the magazine back and apologize to the shopkeeper. It was the most embarrassing thing he could remember from his youth, and as funny as it was to recall now, he’d been so ashamed as he stood in front of the angry shopkeeper, red in the face, eyes downcast. Mamma talked the man out of calling the cops, then she grabbed Matthias’s ear like he was her own child and took him to her bar for the scolding of a lifetime. But afterward she gave him food and a place to sleep for the night, all the while going on and on about a son she’d lost to the war and a husband who had died of cancer.

  In the end, she gave him a job. In doing so, she taught him some responsibility and respect for those that deserved it. Mamma was hard on him. She pushed him to get his GED, get off the streets, and make something of himself. Too bad he never got to that last part. Matthias knew at this point he would most likely never be anything special, and if Mamma knew that he was still reckless with his own wellbeing, she would break down. Or break his legs. Either way, he would rather keep it a secret and avoid both.

  Matthias took a few drink orders, working side by side with Mamma with a genuine smile on his face. These were the memories he wanted to record and remember. Moments with her. He found himself taking in everything she said these days and writing it down. There wasn’t a person alive more precious to him than Mamma, and soon he would lose her.

  In three years’ time, he would have to leave the city until all his friends and family were gone. It was the only way to hide the fact that the Turned never age. As necessary as it was, it was also the most painful part of the transition for most Turned. They could still have contact by way of phone calls, e-mail, letters, and the like but anything face-to-face was basically forbidden by the Elders.

  His eyes trailed to the black leather bracelet he wore around his left wrist; the fleur-du-lis and cross–stamped medallion that was attached to it shimmered in the neon lights. It was Rowan’s insignia, and in a way, it marked him to outsiders. But not for long. That was one thing he was looking forward to. Removing the leather band and the shackle that was Rowan. Still, if he could keep Mamma in his life, he would gladly wear the bracelet for the rest of his life.

  As he poured drinks and chatted with patrons, internally he wondered what he would do without her and how his life would truly change forever once he left the bustling streets of New Orleans and the comforts of the Crow’s Nest bar.

  5

  Matthias

  Rowan is at it again. I know that’s a bad way to start a new journal, but it’s fitting, seeing as how he’s been acting since I got home. After I returned from my crazy holiday weekend, and he found out I had caused some trouble at Artashir’s bar, he ranted for hours about my “careless behavior”. I stopped listening about the time he started talking. He’s usually uptight anyway, but he’s been worse the past couple of days. Sometimes he gets in these weird gloomy moods, followed by extreme irritation. It’s as if he’s going through withdrawals. It’s happened a few times over the past two years, but it seems to be happening more often lately. There are times when he’s his normal old sarcastic self. Then suddenly he’s raging around the house like a lunatic or locking himself in his study for hours at a time. I know he sits in there without moving because the whole time it’s silent as the grave in there.

  That old Samiell thinks Rowan is becoming unstable and needs a new companion to replace me when I’m gone. I don’t do a very good job of keeping Rowan in check. Samiell thinks he needs someone to keep him leveled out and all I do is cause trouble, but I want to live my life my way. I’ll be leaving in three years, so maybe I should help Samiell find a new companion to replace me. If it’ll get Rowan off my back, it’ll be worth it.

  A part of me is curious about Rowan’s current funk, but mostly I just want to sleep for a week to recuperate from my New Year’s activities. When I was still human, I would always exhaust myself around the New Year. I thought that after I was Turned I would have more energy and higher resistance to drugs and booze, therefore allowing myself to keep from getting messed up too fast. I figured I would be able to outlast my human friends, they would give in before me, and we’d all go home before I did something stupid. Really it just means I can go longer and party harder before burning out. I’ve realized that the competitive nature of my friends just means they want to keep up with me and things get worse. Rowan says my energy levels are tragic because I can also get into more trouble, but that’s usually a joke. This time, not so much. This time, I agree with him. I got into more trouble this past weekend than I have in a very long time. You know you’ve gone too hard when you can’t remember shit the next day.

  I kind of screwed up this weekend, though. I got messed up and stole some human woman’s car. It’ll only be a matter of time before the cops find it and tell Rowan. I don’t much care if he knows, but when I get in trouble, he threatens to tell Mamma and I’m sure that would be the thing that would finally push him to telling her everything. For the record, little five-foot-tall Mamma scares me a lot more than Rowan, even with all his powers. If Mamma found out what I did, she would strangle me.

  All right, I admit I was wrong stealing that car and I know I was really high when I did it, but I’m usually not out running the streets when I’m high. Drunk
, yeah, that’s no problem. I can control myself better with some drunk human’s blood in me than I can a druggie’s blood. This one little incident was the only one I’ve had, but Rowan is really pissed that I’ve been feeding off junkies. Hell, it’s not like it’s going to kill me or anything, so I don’t know what the big deal is. My time here will be short, and I know I’ll have to be more careful wherever I go next, so I may as well live it up. As long as I’m not hurting anyone, I don’t see why Rowan can’t just leave me alone.

  I’ve been thinking a lot more lately about leaving. There are times when I’m so ready I can almost taste it. Other times, I’m not so sure. I was born and raised here. I’ve never even been out of the city before. When Rowan found me and began to train me to survive among the humans, he told me that it would take about five years and then I would have to leave.

  I thought that five years would be plenty of time to get my affairs in order. I figured I would have an easy time transitioning and letting people go, but now I find myself wondering if it’s too late to fake my death and get it over with. It’s just so hard to do that anymore. That’s why so many Turned shy away from doing it unless they know someone who can falsify death certificates and such. Not all of us have access to these types of people.

  We have Turned like Samiell who can make us new identities but killing us off is not as easy for some reason. It all has to be planned out with the human police, and even then, it all comes down to paperwork and the ability to find a dead vagrant that is close enough of a body double to pass. Rowan has told me of some of his experiences with Turned who don’t fake their death in the “legal” way and end up causing a lot of issues for the cops, in turn causing issues with the Elders. All in all, the process hardly seems worth it in the end.