Rising to darkness

by Lucia Guglielminetti

  If you need me, don’t hesitate to ask.

  Chen.

  Really comforting, we are now at impalement. As far as I know, there's nothing worse, so I don't have to worry about anything else.

  The danger, for the moment, is for them to discover that I'm in London and where I live. I've always been very careful not to reveal it to anyone and they shouldn't succeed too soon since I bought this house just four years ago. An hour ago, I called Sophie from my new cell phone. She was fine, but she was upset about the article on Le Monde and the TV services; she says they talk about nothing else in Paris. Vincent will just love it. Now I have to go and meet Nathan the werewolf. I checked that there would be no full moon: they become very unsteady during those nights. I'd hate to have to kill him, he's really smart. I'll let you know about it, ok?

  May 16, Cork County

  Given that the investigations were at a standstill and those responsible for my ambush no longer contacted me, I decided to go to Ireland to see Shibeen and her brothers even though they no longer live together as before. Only Ehy and Faithleann still live with her while the others are scattered around the world and seem to have been successful in various activities, though not always legal.

  Shibeen, after many years in London, returned to her homeland and lives in a tiny cottage in the middle of the moor. Although the area is quite isolated, her house has all the modern comforts, from the Internet to the latest advances in home entertainment, compulsory in order to satisfy her brothers who are crazy about videogames. She's always the same and a good book at starlight is enough to fulfill her. She replaced her medieval clothes with comfortable ones: jeans with warm Aran sweaters of raw wool. And, she's always beautiful. When I saw her at Cork airport after a decade, it was as if time had frozen, at least for me. We stared at each other for several minutes without moving a muscle, barely aware of the comings and goings of the people around us. Her brothers broke the spell, submerging me with pats on my back and jokes. It was as if not even a day had passed since the last time I saw them, and I found it very reassuring, like I just got home.

  "Hey, Raist, did the Indians get you?" Faith exclaimed, referring to my hair.

  "He’s old, brother..." Ehy replied.

  "A crime. A real crime. You will immediately grow them back again!"

  Shibeen didn't lose her habit to boss me around, but it was fun. We got into their car, a huge SUV and headed out of town in an area that seems to have remained the same as it did a thousand years ago, rugged and wild but charming as only Ireland knows how to preserve its nature. Too bad I can only see the landscapes in the dark. I can never grasp the nuances of color of the sky, the sea, nor the earth. This is why I prefer the city: things never change much between the night and day and I feel less excluded from the rest of the world. During the journey of about an hour, we avoided speaking about the events that occurred in Paris. Nobody seemed eager to breach the subject for it would have caused discussions, nervousness, and concern, all of which I wanted to keep away from for a while. After all, I was there to catch my breath and not to think about my troubles, even if it was an irresponsible attitude: every day that passed was the extra time that I gave to my mysterious enemies to study their next moves.

  When we arrived at the cottage, I didn't even have time to put my travel bag in the guest room before Shibeen started to charge, insulting me again and again for my foolish behavior in the Alma tunnel.

  "What about Vincent? He must be furious. Did you hear from him?"

  "Uhm...Let’s see… He says that if I surrender now he'll just crucify me but if I force him to track me down, he will impale me. He's very understanding as usual, don't you think? Irony aside, he moves fast. In Paris, he stationed vampires everywhere, I couldn’t even go home."

  Shibeen was tearing her hair out and started pacing the room.

  “I'm running on empty, mijn kind, my life's a disaster again. I can't find those guilty of my ambush, not even Nathan, who’s a computer wizard, was able to uncover something. I have to hear from him tonight, I hope he has some news."

  It was about ten o'clock.

  Shibeen decided I had to relax and dragged me into her beautiful bathroom where we celebrated our ancient ritual: lying down together in the tub, her back against my chest and my arms around her gorgeous body. Sophie wouldn’t be happy at all, but there are relationships among us vampires that a human will never understand. No feelings for a woman could ever eclipse what I feel for my maker, my best friend, the person I trust the most in the world. Shibeen can sense everything I feel: with her, I don't need to hide, I can really be myself. She has seen me in times of such difficulties that worrying if I look weak and vulnerable is my last concern.

  "You will stay for a while, won’t you? You're safe here, nobody can find you. Let the waters calm with Vincent. You know the way he is..."

  "Do you mean that? I don't think so, this time I really made a big mess. I don't know if there's a place in the world where they aren't talking about me, imagine the pressure from the other Clans to put everything to rest... You have one here in Ireland, I think."

  "Yes, the Cat Dubh. They're powerful but they mind their own business. I don't think they will take part in any hunting. And, then, I know their leader, there will be no problems."

  Just then, my cell rang. Shibeen tried to prevent me from answering but, in the end, she gave up. It was Nathan and the news was bad, much worse than I imagined. Not on the human front, but on the supernatural one. I listened to his account with increasing dismay. In the end, I had nausea and hung up without even saying goodbye.

  "What is it, Raist? Who was it? What did he say? Talk, you're scaring me. What happened?"

  "It was Nathan, he failed to find anything about the ambush, but that isn't the worst thing. Do you want to know what your Vincent did, after I shed my blood for him and his damn Clan for more than a century? He sold me, Shibeen. He sold me to Greylord. In exchange for his help to find me, he'll give me to him. They have signed a real written pact: from today, his lycans and the Diurnals are allied with the aim to find me and tear me apart."

  The nausea became increasingly stronger and I had to hurry out of the tub, my arms wrapped around my knotted stomach.

  Thank God Shibeen's bathroom is furnished with everything, otherwise I'd have flooded the floor with my dinner that evening. Many vampires forget to install the toilet for they don't need it, which, however, causes serious problems to their human guests.

  I don't know what upset me more: Vincent's total lack of mercy or his resort to any means in order to catch me, even to form an alliance with his worst enemy. I'm still in shock to know it. Three days have passed since that phone call, and I've spent most of my time in the room Shibeen prepared for me, staring at the ceiling or closed in my coffin unable to have a good sleep. In the afternoon, I often woke up, stifling my screams due to the horrible nightmares haunting me. I dreamt about Greylord when I was his prisoner in 1840, never before had I been so close to death, or have desired it. I dreamt about the three Es that I've been branded with on my back.

  Extraction

  Expiation

  Extinction

  Full treatment: the extraction of canines, torture for an indefinite period, death due to exposure, and subsequent dismemberment. I fully enjoyed the first two, the third only to a certain point and the most painful one. I dreamt about his blue eyes, cold as ice, and his satisfied grin when he showed me off like a trophy at the return of the ambush where my friend Stefan was killed. Only one thing is certain: I will never let him put his filthy claws on me again, ever. If death is my final destination, let it come soon. I have endured enough suffering. I heard Shibeen downstairs yelling at someone, I'd better go and see what's going on.

  My brave maker was insulting Vincent on the phone.

  Her fangs exposed and an infuriated expression transmitted, even in the voice, her ferocity.

  "How could you? How could you do such a thing? He was your General for nearly
a century! He brought your fucking Clan to its highest glory and now, just because he scared four human idiots who wouldn't recognize a vampire even if they have one in front of them, you throw him to the wolves, Vincent? You disgust me, do you know that? Don't even dare to talk to me again and watch your back because, if anything happens to him, I will kill you with my bare hands. Was I clear enough, Father? Don't..."

  I tore the phone from her hands and took control of the conversation. The hell with my cover, I had to attempt to gain something.

  "It's me. Yes, I'm here with her, she would never betray me. Shut... shut the fuck up and let me talk. I want a week. I need a week to settle the matter that led to all this mess; I want to kill the humans who have challenged me with their arrogance. Don't... shush, I'm not done yet. You owe me, Vincent. You owe me after all I’ve done for the Diurnals. You owe me. I'll give myself up to you after that, but only to you, not to Greylord, and you can kill me if that's what you want. Otherwise, I will go straight into a TV station and tell them all about me, our race, the Clan...Everything. Can you imagine the effect, Vincent? Do you like my plan? I'll reveal even the addresses of the Academies, becoming a place of pilgrimage of vampirephiles from all over the world: there will be guided tours, t-shirts, mugs, an endless series of gadgets with the word "Diurnals" on them, what do you say? You better start clearing the airports and streets of your lackeys, I need absolute freedom of movement. Deal? It’s been nice talking to you, Master, have a nice evening. Oh, Shibeen wants to say goodbye."

  I handed the phone to her with my hand trembling without control and I was afraid I would throw up again. Even if I hadn't gotten an actual yes, I knew I had won at least seven days on the vampires' front.

  "He will not die, not in a week, not in seven hundred years. I won't allow it, you'll have to kill me and my brothers before. You'll have to tear all your children apart, Vincent, before succeeding. This heinous pact isn't worth a dime to me! He has promised to respect it, I didn't. I didn't! He's mine! Mine! Fuck you, sick fucking bastard!"

  She went on with an endless series of insults in Gaelic under our terrified eyes until I grabbed the phone from her and hung up. There was a moment of complete silence among us as we stared at one another, then someone started to laugh. It was the end. For more than a quarter of an hour, we couldn't stop, each of us lost in his own hysterics, increasing each time we looked at one another.

  "We're dead... we're all dead..." someone mumbled and we were laughing like lunatics once again.

  Despite a life expectancy of a week, I was really having a blast.

  It's almost 4 a.m.

  In three quarters of an hour, the sun is going to rise and I'd better try to sleep for a while but I'm afraid to have the usual dreams of Greylord. I think I'll take refuge in Shibeen's bed: she understood my state of mind and respected my wish to be alone, but I can't be alone today.

  Nathan's last call sounded a little bit more optimistic. It's frustrating to me being here with nothing to do, but, in my job as Atropos, there's always a research phase in which I'm compelled to wait for my partners to do their part, of course. Meanwhile, I'll have to think of the best way to push my mission through.

  As I also have to study in detail the habitual movements of my future victims in the daylight hours, I am forced to have a human assistant: Richard, an Irishman to whom Shibeen introduced me, an old IRA acquaintance skilled in tracking and in photography. Like the others, he gets a small percentage of my earnings for his work. Unlike Philippe, my supernatural nature doesn't disturb him in any particular way; he's very cold and impassive for a human.

  In each of the countries where I have found myself working, like the Middle East or the United States or Europe, exists a Philippe, a man of a thousand resources. In England and Ireland, he's a vampire called Renfield, a good-looking guy who has caused people to write about a Jim Morrison sighting here and there from time to time. He must be very amused by this undeniable likeness as he tends to imitate him even in clothing. Sometimes I've even wondered whether he could be the original since – which could also just be a coincidence – I started collaborating with him right in the early seventies. Our relationship is restricted to the professional level and we're both happy with it.

  In recent days, I contacted him via e-mail to ask information about the latest updates in the field of lethal gases. He seemed to be annoyed by it, but when I specified that I'd only need a very small amount, he relaxed and promised he would take care of it. It's irritating to know that just because I am a vampire and chose to kill as a profession too, everybody expects me to be willing to do it on any scale. I'm not that kind of monster, actually. The last one who proposed that I kill a woman and a child because they were witnesses to a crime in America at the time of Prohibition found himself watching the fish in the local river very closely.

  The sun is about to rise and I'm very tired. Tomorrow the countdown of the days left to find my man starts. I hope that Nathan doesn't disappoint me, I need to solve this matter before... I mean, before the night falls on me.

  May 17

  As the humans say these days: bingo!

  Nathan has the Arab's name and address.

  The icing on the cake is that I won't even have to go to the Emirates or in Iran or Dubai: the Sheikh lives in London, almost served on a silver plate. Now I will unleash Richard for the days while I'll take care of all the nights. I want pictures, I want habits, and I even want the shoe size of this repulsive scum. I want him and, before the end of this week, I will have him. It’s time to go back to civilization.

  Atropos is back.

  May 17. On the plane back to London

  Shibeen was refusing to let me go. She said that I could go only over her dead body. We had a violent argument, which hasn’t happened for at least a century. She shouted, cried, shrieked, threatened, and, a couple of hours later, locked herself in her room and refused to say goodbye to me. I begged her in every way, I even mentioned that it might be the last time we would see each other, but she was adamant.

  She said that last night she dreamt about crows again. It was always better than dreaming about Greylord and his silver whip that made an earsplitting hiss every time it hit me on my back.

  Faith and Ehy, on the contrary, took me to the airport but, during the trip, no one dared to say a word. Once we arrived at the terminal, Ehy asked me the question that had been haunting all of them since the beginning, I guess.

  "Will you really give yourself up to Vincent when you're done with it?"

  "I'm not accustomed to breaking my word, for better or for worse. Come on, don't make that face, we’ve had a lot of fun for three hundred years. Maybe the time has come for me to write an end..."

  "Don't you care about my sister? She will be devastated. What about your human girlfriend? What about that family?"

  "Humans are always better off without us around, don't you think so?"

  "I think you should ask their opinion before being so confident about that."

  We stared at each other for a few minutes, then, seeing him upset, I gently took my suitcase from his hand and gave both brothers a pat on their backs.

  "Come on, no long faces, I still have a week left of great amusement, then we'll see. I left an envelope in the guest room, there are some letters I'd like to be delivered if I... There's also my will, drawn up in front of an attorney. Give everything to Shibeen; she will take care of it. Tell her... nothing. It’s all in the letter I wrote to her. Farewell, Aoidhgheann... Faithleann..."

  "You can pronounce our names, then, damhàn..."

  "Of course, but I spared myself three hundred years of suffering!"

  I turned away and disappeared inside the terminal without the courage to look back at them. I'm running through a dark valley and, in spite of what they say, I'm scared to death.

  London, May 18, -5

  The negative number after the date doesn't indicate the temperature in the city, but the days I have left to accomplish my mission before
Vincent comes and gets me.

  If I had the slightest idea of what Greylord's next moves would be, I'd be much calmer. I don’t think that blackmail matters even to him: I believe that all the lycans are out on the hunt for me. Not even Nathan can help on this front. He's a member of their race but he leads a quiet life, far from the issues of the pack, even though he was once a part of it. He's the one who helped me to flee from Greylord, disgusted by the things he was compelled to follow for days as a reporter. The human side of his personality had prevailed, luckily for me. Since then, he allows the turning to prevail just once a year. He goes to the countryside, hunting deer and rabbits all night through, then gets back to the city to his job and his family, relaxed and refreshed. His wife knows of his nature and has no issues about it. The only negative aspect of turning only rarely is the loss of immortality little by little, but he doesn't seem to care. He just wants to grow old with the woman he loves by his side. He says that he has seen and done enough insanity in his lifetime.

  At Heathrow Airport, I noticed two big guys with black raincoats who had the air of being werewolves. I experienced a moment of real terror, but thanks to my new hairdo, the dark lenses, and a hint of foundation stolen from Shibeen that made my complexion a little less ghostly than usual, I managed not to be recognized. I hoped so, at least. I rented a car, the most insignificant one available, a metallic grey Golf, leaving the Airport as calmly as possible so as not to draw attention. During my way back home, I did nothing but check the rearview mirror the entire time. If I still had a beating heart, it would have jumped out of my chest. When I arrived in front of the building, I went up to my apartment and locked the door. From the large safe that I keep behind a painting in the living room, I pulled out my trusty Glock and three magazines. From now on, I won't make a step unarmed. The bullets are explosive and contain silver nitrate; they can kill a lycan - or a vampire - in less than a second.