Breathless (13 page)

“Please, have a seat,” the professor invited, indicating an old wooden chair with a dark burgundy cushioned seat similar to some she remembered from her grandmother’s house. He switched on a red and gold glass Tiffany lamp on the corner of the desk to give them a bit more light.

Leesa lowered herself gingerly onto the chair, not really sure how strong it was, but found it quite solid. Professor Clerval pulled a wheeled desk chair from under the desk and spun it around to face her. He sat down and took a curved black pipe and a pouch of tobacco from the top desk drawer.

“Do you mind?” he asked as he tamped a pinch of tobacco into the bowl.

“No, of course not,” Leesa replied, happy it wasn’t a cigarette, or even worse, a stinky cigar.

“As we get older, we tend to relish the simple pleasures.” He lit a wooden match and held it above the bowl, sucking in through the pipe repeatedly until the tobacco was lit. The smoke had a pleasant, fruity scent—cherry, Leesa thought.

The professor leaned back into his chair and puffed on his pipe. Leesa could see his aged features begin to soften as he relaxed. After a moment, he reached into another drawer and pulled out a brass key. He held the key out to Leesa.

“Open that bookcase,” he said, indicating the glass-fronted case. “Take out the third volume from the left on the second shelf. Be careful—it’s very old.”

Leesa took the key and opened the glass front of the case. Using two hands, she gently lifted out the leather-bound volume. The feel of the dried leather reminded her of the dry, crinkly hide of a stuffed iguana she’d once handled in high school biology.

“Here, let me have it,” the professor said.

Leesa handed him the old book. “What is it?”

Professor Clerval rested the book on his lap. “It’s an original manuscript from the early nineteenth century, said to be the memoirs of a female vampire.” He put his pipe into a brass ashtray atop the desk and carefully opened the book. Leesa could hear the leather binding crinkle. She scraped her chair closer.

“Whether it is in fact that, or the work of someone’s imagination, I’m not sure. But it contains a small section about the matter of such interest to the Nyland family—one-fanged vampires.” He thumbed slowly through the pages, stopping about halfway through. “Ahhh, here it is.” He looked up at Leesa. “I don’t expect you read Italian?”

Leesa shook her head. “No, just English.”

“I’ll summarize it for you, then. She writes of a man she wanted to take for her consort, to make him vampire and live by her side. She says she knew something was wrong the instant she began drinking his blood. Some feeling she’d never before experienced. The word she uses does not translate well, but
a sourness
would be a good approximation. When she finished, she failed to see the expected change in his eyes, the look she normally saw when ushering a human into the realm of the undead.”

Professor Clerval carefully turned the page. “At first, the man didn’t know anything was wrong.” He looked up at Leesa. She was sitting on the edge of her chair, her attention riveted upon him.

“How could he know?” he asked. “After all, a person only gets bitten once. But the vampire knew.” The professor returned to the book. “She writes that he smiled at her and reached out his hands for hers, but was taken by surprise when she faltered back. I’ll quote her now: ‘I recoiled in horror as he opened his mouth, for it revealed a thing of which I’d only heard stories, had never seen, and hope never to see again. Just one lone fang dropped from his upper jaw—the mark of a
grafhym
. The man I wanted for my consort was damaged, imperfect.’ She goes on to say he was banished from the tribe immediately, forced out into the forest to live his life alone.”

He turned another page. “The final section talks about the phenomenon of
grafhym
in general. How their powers are sorely limited. And most importantly, how they cannot turn a victim vampire, can at best turn them into weaker versions of themselves.”

He closed the book and looked up, smiling. “Kind of like making a copy of a copy, I guess. So tell me, Leesa, why the family interest in something so out of the ordinary as one-fanged vampires? Your brother never said.”

Leesa debated briefly how much to tell him, but decided to give him the full story, sensing she might need his help in the future. She began with her mother’s “accident” and her claim about being bitten by a one-fanged vampire, and then detailed the bizarre behavioral changes her mom had suffered over the years and how they had shaped her family.

Professor Clerval listened carefully, puffing absently on his pipe as Leesa talked. He didn’t interrupt with a single question.

“So whether your mother’s story is true or not,” he said when she finished, “doesn’t really matter. Its effect on your family has been quite powerful.”

“Do you think it could be true?” Leesa knew it wouldn’t really make any difference—the past is past—but there would be some small comfort in knowing her mom wasn’t crazy.

Professor Clerval shrugged. “I don’t know. But nothing your mother said contradicts anything of what we just read. And at least some of her behaviors are consistent with
grafhym
. I’d love to meet her, talk to her.”

“She’s still in San Diego. I doubt I could convince her to come back here.” Leesa thought about the idea for a few seconds. “But I guess I could try. Maybe on a red-eye,” she mused.

“Please try,” the professor said. “Because there’s one very important thing we must consider regarding your mother.”

Leesa was struck by the seriousness of his tone. “What’s that?” she asked.

Professor Clerval looked at her solemnly. “If your mother simply made up her tale, where would she have heard of a one-fanged vampire? Awareness of the existence of
grafhym
is exceedingly uncommon.”

The professor’s words struck Leesa like a slap. Since she had not known one-fanged vampires existed, she’d always assumed the story was a creation of her mom’s imagination. But how likely was her mom’s imagination to have hit so close to what Dr. Clerval had just read from the old manuscript? One fang, maybe—there would have to be only one fang to explain the single puncture in her neck. But the idea of a flawed transfer of power? That was too close to the mark. Leesa breathed deeply. Not since she was a very young child had she found herself believing her mom’s story like this.

“I’d love to talk to you and your brother together,” Professor Clerval said, pulling Leesa from her musings.

“I wish you could,” Leesa replied sadly. “But Bradley’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“Over a year now. He sent me an email, telling me he was going away and not to try finding him.”

Professor Clerval leaned forward. “Uh-oh,” he murmured.

Leesa popped out of her chair. “What is it? Do you know something?”

“No. Sorry. Nothing specific, at least. Please, sit.” He waited until Leesa sat back down. “I’m betting it had something to do with the girl.”

“Edwina?”

“Was that her name? I never formally met her. Bradley brought her to class a couple of times. There was enough room, so I permitted it. They usually sat near the front.”

“Why do you think Edwina had anything to do with Bradley’s disappearance?” Leesa had guessed it probably did, but she never had any concrete reason to support the belief.

“Something about the way she looked, the way she moved,” Professor Clerval said. “But it was more than that. It was the way she looked
at
you. Arrogant, challenging. Especially whenever I said something out of the mainstream about vampires. Like, who was I, some old man, to try to reveal the mysteries of the undead? As if she possessed a secret knowledge no one else had. Afterward, when I had time to think about it, to put some pieces together, I began to wonder if maybe she
was
a vampire. And now to learn Bradley is gone. If Edwina is a vampire, God help him.”

Leesa’s mouth went dry. First her mom, and now Bradley. She stood up and began to pace the tiny office. Even if the stories were all nonsense, the idea of vampires continued to wreck her family. And if they were real, that was even worse. She looked at the professor. He seemed to have aged in the last few minutes. “You don’t really think Edwina was a vampire, do you?”

“I have no way of knowing, but she certainly looked the part. And with what you just told me about your family, she could have used that to ensnare your brother.” Dr. Clerval picked up his pipe and took a long puff. “If Edwina hinted at forbidden knowledge, Bradley would not have resisted.”

Nor would she, Leesa knew. She would have to follow this trail. “Was Edwina a student here?”

“Not to my knowledge. I could look back through the school’s databases, I suppose.”

“I’ve already checked the yearbooks. But go ahead, please, in case there’s something in your listings.” She sat back down. There was a question she had to ask, but she dreaded the answer. “Professor, if she really was a vampire, what does that mean for Bradley?”

The professor’s countenance darkened. “If he’s been gone as long as you say,” he said, “then one of two things, I’m afraid. Either Bradley is a vampire now, or she’s made him into a feeder.”

Leesa did not at all like the way the professor said that. “What’s a feeder?”

“A feeder is a human captive kept as a continuous source of blood. The host drinks the feeder’s blood regularly, never biting deeply enough or taking enough blood to turn the victim vampire. The blood is allowed to replenish itself before the vampire drinks again, giving him or her a personal, never-ending well of blood. I would think it a nightmarish existence, caught between the world of the living and the world of the undead.”

Leesa shivered. The thought chilled her own blood.

15.  GLOVES AND A BROKEN PHONE

T
he sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new. Out for her daily walk, Leesa was frustrated with the nothing new. She didn’t have class until eleven today, so she decided to do her four-mile loop: out the north gate, down the hill to downtown Middletown and south along Main Street, then back onto campus from the east. Despite the bright sun, the morning was cold enough for her to see her breath—something rare back in San Diego—and she enjoyed puffing out little clouds of steam for the first few minutes of her walk. She had donned three T-shirts under her red Weston sweatshirt and walked with her hands pulled up inside her sleeves. At least I’m stylish, she thought wryly, glancing down at the multicolored layers protruding from her sweatshirt around her hips. And warm, which was really all that mattered, with layers she could peel away as she grew more heated from her exertions.

Her frustrations centered around Bradley. She’d heard nothing from Dr. Clerval, which probably meant he’d failed to find anything about Edwina in the school’s databases. She had finally connected with Bradley’s freshman RA and had talked with him on the phone. He spoke highly of her brother, but knew nothing about what he’d been up to during his sophomore year. She wasn’t sure where to turn next. Topping off her frustrations, she hadn’t seen Rave in more than a week. Not for the first time, she wished he had a damn phone!

But it was too nice out to brood on such negative thoughts, so she turned her attention to the beautiful scenery. The fall foliage was nearing its peak, painting the landscape with a kaleidoscope of colors unlike anything she’d ever seen in San Diego. The maples dotting the long hillside above the north gate were exploding with fiery reds and dark purples, while the oaks glowed gold and yellow. A light breeze rustled the leaves, sending a few of them spiraling to the ground, where a growing carpet of red, yellow and brown speckled the still lush green lawn. She breathed deeply, inhaling the earthy fragrance of the decaying leaves.

As she neared the wide brick columns marking the campus gateway, she felt that familiar, strange sense of Rave’s presence. She looked around, but as usual, saw no sign of him. Just for fun, she stopped one step inside the gate and said loudly, “Hi, Rave.”

To her surprise, he stepped around the corner and into the gateway. Despite the cold, he wore no jacket, just a navy blue long-sleeve T-shirt and jeans. A pair of black leather gloves covered his hands. He looked perplexed.

“How did you know I was here?” he asked.

“You’re always popping up out of nowhere,” she said, trying to restrain her smile, “so now I stop before every corner I come to and call your name, just in case.”

Rave laughed. “I almost believe you. You going anywhere special?”

“Nope. Just taking my morning walk. Down into Middletown, along Main Street.” She started down the sidewalk. “Wanna come along?”

“Now you’re reading my mind,” he joked as he fell into step beside her. “What other hidden powers do you have?”

She laughed. “I’ll never tell.” She took in his lack of a jacket again. “Aren’t you cold?”

He held up his gloved hands. “As long as I keep my hands warm, I’m good.” He didn’t tell her his real reason for the gloves—she’d find out soon enough.

“Isn’t this beautiful?” Leesa asked as they strolled down the hill under a canopy of bright red and gold trees toward downtown. At the end of the long, colorful tunnel, the sun-dappled Connecticut River flowed by, a narrow ribbon of blue and flashing gold. Even the line of cars rumbling alongside them couldn’t mar the scene’s beauty.