She Dies at the End (November Snow #1) (24 page)

November tried to keep her eyes off the humans.  Most were only lightly enthralled so far.  It made them seem a little high.  They danced and flirted, doing their job of entertaining everyone, only the few favorite companions having any idea of where the evening would inevitably take them.  November was the youngest human in the room, though not by much.  Some of the girls looked barely of age to drink.  She found it all terribly sad.  Around midnight, William came over to tell her that the fangs were about to come out.  She wasn’t surprised; peoples’ eyes had been growing more and more predatory over the previous hour.  “To the library with you, and lock the door,” William ordered.  “Don’t come out until dawn.”   

“Aye-aye, captain,” she said.  The library doors were a lot stronger than the one to her room.  Her bedroom door would present no obstacle to a vampire coming after her, either to further his ambition or because he had lost control.  There would be a lot of blood flowing in the ballroom, and accidents were known to happen.  After she passed through the ballroom doors, the guards shut them behind her.  She walked quickly, hoping not to hear any screaming as dinner was served behind her.  Her heartbeat didn’t slow down until she had locked and bolted the library doors behind her.  The outside of the doors were clad in silver to protect the literary treasures inside.  The only way to open them was to have the single key which was presently located in William’s pocket.

She’d taken over a corner of the library by the windows, with her own little desk filled with art supplies, but tonight she was too keyed up to draw.  She kicked off her shoes and settled down on the comfiest couch to read.  Her current project was “The Werewolf and Fairy Wars: A History in Six Volumes,” an opus covering 1500 years of intermittent conflict between all three groups of supernatural creatures, from a vampire perspective.  She was on Volume 3, which covered the near genocide of the fairy people and the resulting alliance between vampire and fairy.  It was all rather a downer, but she wanted badly to understand better this world she’d fallen into.

Just as she began dozing under a knit blanket, and long before dawn, she heard something at the door.  The tumblers in the lock were turning.  The bolt lid back.  Her heart skipped a beat.  She pulled out both her rosary and her knife, knowing full well how hopeless she was hand-to-hand but determined not to go down without a fight.  She was trying to use her gift to peek through the door when it opened.

King Ilyn raised an eyebrow when he saw November standing shoeless next to the couch, knife in hand.  He raised his own hands above his head, saying, “My wallet’s in my back pocket. Just please don’t hurt me.”  November responded by dropping her weapons back in her purse and throwing a pillow at his head.  He caught the pillow without using his hands and placed it gently back on the sofa.

“You’re lucky the crossbow didn’t fit in my bag,” she said, trying to steady her breathing.  “Also, making fun of little girls isn’t very regal.  What are you doing down here?  And how did you get in the door?” she asked, belatedly adding, “Your grace,” as she realized how familiar she was acting.

His lips twitched.  “As I mentioned, public feeding does not interest me.  You, however, do interest me.  Besides, they will have much more fun without my supervision.  I am not exactly known as the life of the party.  And picking an old-fashioned lock is rather trivial for a telekinetic.  I simply reach out and move the tumblers.”  He sat down at the opposite end of the couch and snatched a New Yorker from the rack across the room.  “May I join you?” he asked after he was already seated with his legs crossed, magazine dropping neatly out of the air into his lap.

“Of course,” she answered, a bit amused, to her surprise.  She wondered if he would have left had she refused his company.  She felt safer with him around, to be honest.  The thought of the vampire orgy likely taking place upstairs was rather creeping her out.

November settled back down with her book, curling up once again under her blanket.  She alternated pretending to read with staring at her vampire companion, trying to figure him out but lacking enough information to do so.  She continued doing this until she realized that he was doing the same thing.

She found the courage to ask, “Is there something you, um, wanted to talk about?”

“I don’t understand you,” he replied quickly, as though dashing at a door that had finally opened.  “You seem so happy most of the time.  You laugh so often.  I can hear you from anywhere in the house.  You even seem happy around me, misunderstandings aside.  In the ballroom tonight, you smiled at me whenever you caught my eye.  So genuine.  No one but my children smiles at me without wanting something from me, but you . . .”  He threw up his hands in perplexity.  “I am a 2500 year old vampire who you believe is going to end your life by drinking your blood and forcing you to drink his in return.  You have been pressed into service for my cause and my house.  Yet you seem neither bitter nor frightened nor angry with me, at least not about that.”

“Sometimes I am all those things,” November admitted.  “I just let it pass through me.  I let it fall away without grabbing hold of it.  That’s the only way I’ve been able to function.  It’s the idea of being helpless and in pain that I’m really afraid of, I think, more than the fact that I’m going to die young.  I spent my whole childhood crazy from fear and from the non-stop visions I couldn’t control.  Eventually I found a way through it, and I chose to make happiness where I can, and to not hold grudges.”  November shrugged, thinking briefly of the many things she’d had to forgive.

“I just don’t see the point in being miserable over a fate I can likely do nothing about.  It helps that in the vision, none of you seem happy about my death.  You look like you’re burying a family member.  It also looks like you won’t have much of a choice, as far as ending my life goes.  I mean, there’s an awful lot blood on my dress.  I must get shot or stabbed or something first.”  She paused, shivering slightly.  

“Coming here was not exactly my idea, but quite honestly, it’s the best home I’ve ever had.  And since I’ve come here, my gift seems to have more of a purpose, and it seems that perhaps my death when it comes won’t be for nothing, like most people’s.  I’ve watched so many people die for nothing.  And all alone.  At least I won’t be alone when I die.”

Ilyn’s eyes looked sad for a moment.  “I never thought to make another vampire.  And I am not in the habit of killing such young humans. Not recently, anyway.  Do you want to be a vampire?” he asked.

“Not really.  I’m afraid of becoming a predator, of what I’ll be like after, of what I might do.  At the same time, the idea of being strong certainly has its appeal.  But what I want has never made much difference in how things turn out, anyway.  Why would it this time?” she said.  “Did your children want to be vampires?  Did you?” she ventured.

“I would have died otherwise, slowly and very painfully.  So, yes, I chose this life when Marisha offered it to me.  I already loved her.  I was her favorite human, you see.  She was a young vampire, perhaps a century old, and she was frightened that she would botch the process, I remember.  William was too delirious to give permission or to object when I turned him.  When we found him, he’d been lying on the battlefield for hours, dying of his injuries, too weak to cry for help and too strong to pass over.  Now, Savita . . . she would have preferred a true death at the time, but she was too valuable.  Like you, she was far too special to waste, and she had had such a difficult human life that she would have welcomed the release of death.  In time, she was glad for the chance for a second, happier life, or so she tells me.  But it took quite some time.”  He smiled sadly.  He seemed very fond of his daughter.  

“Luka wanted it, badly.  He wanted the strength.  That should have been a warning, but Marisha was too softhearted to see it, and I dismissed it.  I thought the love and loyalty would come after she turned him.  It often does, as the years go by.  He did love her, I suppose.  But never me.”  He shook his head, thinking of his late wife and their wayward son.  “A soft-hearted vampire . . . it must sound rather unbelievable to you.”

“Not really.  No one is all one thing or all another.”  Since Ilyn seemed to be in an answering mood, she combed her mind for more questions.  “Did you have children?" she asked.  "When you were human, I mean?"

“I had a son.  He died of fever before his third birthday.  My wife died the next day.  I was 19 years old.”

“I’m so sorry.  How sad,” she said softly, reaching out a hand to touch his arm.  He looked down at her hand in surprise, and she pulled it back.

“Yes, it was sad.  Life was brutal and short then,” he said.  “So many dangers.  So little medicine or protection.  We were helpless in the face of disease, injury, war, disaster of all kinds.  So I do sympathize with you, little one, in your fear of being helpless.  I may be the most powerful vampire on the continent, but I know full well how that feels.”

He turned back to his reading, so November followed suit.  They remained in companionable silence until dawn, when the king retired to the crypt and the human collapsed in her bed, covered with a blanket of warm sunlight.      

Ilyn stops shoveling dirt and looks down at the girl in the ground, peppered with clods of earth.  He tosses the shovel to William and jumps into the grave.  “Bury us,” he barks.  William opens his mouth to question him.  His father cuts him off.  “I don’t want her to wake up alone in the ground.  It’s frightening.”

“We did, and we survived,” William argues.  “At your age, you’ll be awake down there for hours before she comes around.”

“Do it,” comes the command as Ilyn curls up next to the corpse.  So his son does.

November awoke on Christmas afternoon to find herself in a darkened room with a vampire king sitting at her desk, leafing through a binder of her drawings whilst smoking a pipe.  He turned at the rustle of her sheets as she sat up.  “Merry Christmas,” he said matter-of-factly, then returned his attention to the binder.  The only light in the room was her desk lamp.  Her shutters, she now observed, were indeed light-tight.

She stared at him for an incredulous moment before throwing up her hands in resignation and returning his Christmas wishes.  “Merry Christmas.  May I ask what you are doing in here, your grace?”

“I wanted to examine your older work to see if anything useful jumped out at me.  Savu only showed me the binder about your burial, and your recent work on the bombings,” he replied after taking a pull from his pipe.  “Also, I was bored,” he admitted with a shrug.  “The plight of the elderly vampire.  We only need a few hours rest.”  She wanted to be irritated at his intrusion but found this admission charming in spite of herself.

“That’s fine, but I would have appreciated your asking my permission.  It’s kind of personal.  I’ve never shown most of those drawings to anyone.”

“But you were asleep,” he replied logically.  “I did not wish to disturb you.  Besides, I’d forgotten how soothing it is, the sound of a sleeping human breathing.”  So his redhead didn’t sleep with him, apparently.  She supposed he wasn’t paying her to sleep.

“Well, that’s, um, thoughtful, I guess.  Next time something like this comes up, please ask.”

“As you wish,” he said with a nod.

She watched him for a moment, smelling the smoke.  She’d always much preferred the smell of pipes to cigarettes, though she knew they were just as bad for you.  “Why do you smoke a pipe?  Tobacco has no effect on vampires, does it?”

“Certainly not.  I began shortly after crossing the Atlantic centuries ago, in order to blend in more easily.  I came to like the smell, the ritual of it.  Does it bother you?” he asked solicitously.

“No, actually.  My grandmother smoked a pipe, so I find the smell kind of comforting.  And it’s not as though either of us needs to worry about the long-term health effects,” she replied with a smile and a little shrug.  There were some advantages to being doomed.

“Your grandmother?” he asked, sounding amused.  “I haven’t seen a woman smoking a pipe in many years.”

“She was a little eccentric,” November answered.  “To say the least.  So, have you found anything interesting in my binders?”

“Just this, so far,” he said, pulling out a sketch in colored pencil of a lake surrounded by snow-capped mountains.

“Oh, my lake.  I see that one a lot when I’m travelling, if I’m gazing out the window.  I’ve never known the actual location.  Usually I see it from far away, like that drawing.   I’ve had a couple of dreams from on the ground, though, in some kind of busy marketplace near the water.  I could look up and see the mountains.  I always thought it was funny to see all that snow but the lake never frozen over.”  She smiled, remembering the smell of spices and the sight of silk and camels.  It was definitely one of her more pleasant recurring visions.

“The lake is called Issyk Kul.  It is located in present-day Kyrgyzstan.  There was a city there, on the trade route between east and west.  It was important at one time.  It is now buried in the water.  I was born there.”

“No way!” she blurted out.

“I assure you I am not mistaken,” he said a little severely.

“Of course I believe you!  I’m just surprised.  I’ve been seeing that place since I was a little girl.  I had no idea it was connected to any of you.  I wonder what else I’ve seen about all of you without even knowing.  Have you ever gone back there?”  Her mind was a bit blown.

“No, never.  I fled as a young man, when I was still living.  Too many painful memories there, I fear,” he said quietly.  “It’s quite remarkable,” he commented after examining the drawing again.  “Your second sight is exceptional, November.  And your sketches aren’t bad, either.   Imagine what you might be able to do with centuries to practice, and with a vampire’s strength!”

November looked down uncomfortably.  She disliked the idea of being coveted as a tool or a weapon, leery of her own power.

“In the old days, a seer like you would live in a temple, surrounded by priests whose job was to care for you and to try to interpret your prophesies.  People would flock to you to ask for direction, shower you with gifts.  You would have been revered,” he added.

“It does sound more glamorous than being a carnival fortune teller,” she replied self-deprecatingly.

He looked at the shelf full of binders.  “You’ve managed to accumulate all these visions on your own.  I assume you only kept the ones that you guessed might be meaningful?”  She nodded.  “If only we knew what they all meant!”

“Well, feel free to look through them all.”  She paused awkwardly before saying, “I should bathe and get dressed.”

The king failed to take the hint, simply replying, “Of course.  Feel free to do so,” before turning back to the desk.  November rolled her eyes behind his back.

She gathered up a change of clothes and locked herself in the bathroom, trying not to grumble incredulously under her breath.  She couldn’t quite believe that she was standing in the shower while a vampire king sat in her bedroom leafing through her childhood drawings as though they would hold some secret wisdom of the ages.  It was without a doubt the oddest Christmas day she had ever experienced.

When she emerged, Ilyn still sat unmoving at her desk.  When she returned from the kitchen with her breakfast, still he remained.  She read quietly so as not to disturb him.  She sketched a few scenes from visions she’d had the previous day and filed them neatly away.  She listened to music with her headphones, though she supposed he could still hear the music.  He finally looked up toward the shuttered windows and said, “Sunset.  I should head to the courtroom.”

“You can sense that?” she asked.  Ben’s trial was beginning tonight.  She didn’t want to think about it.

“The ones who cannot don’t survive long,” he replied.  “May I return tomorrow to continue this work?” he asked formally, carefully honoring her request.

“Of course.  Try not to wake me up,” she said jokingly, hoping for a smile, but, she was, alas, disappointed.  The king bowed chivalrously and zoomed out the door.

Ben’s trial occupied the next two nights.  As a human, November was not permitted to attend, which was both incredibly irritating and a relief.  She got all the details from Zinnia, of course.  The king presided.  Amy was relentless for the prosecution.  Josue made a valiant effort, but Ben was not terribly helpful in mounting a defense.  Ben refused to testify or to call any witnesses.  Ilyn handed down the verdict of death by stake, disappointing those who had hoped for burning or the guillotine for a little excitement.  The execution was scheduled for New Year’s Day.

November did her best to avoid the visitors, especially Lilith.  She kept to her room for the most part.  She only ventured downstairs while the sun was shining, stocking up on a night’s worth of food and replenishing her stack of books.  She was taking a break from reading about the wars after coming to some quite disturbing passages featuring the king, who apparently at one time had rather a reputation for butchery and quite the penchant for decapitation.  She had difficulty reconciling those images with the man she woke each afternoon to find sitting at her desk, too large for her chair, silently smoking a pipe and poring over her work.

After the king would depart, she spent a lot of time alone.  Most everyone was busy keeping the court people entertained, preparing for the next party, or working on war plans, strategizing about how to get sufficient support from other lords to go after Luka.  

Her trips to the dungeon to see Ben were now impossible with so many strange vampires in the crypt.  She had to settle for sending him a farewell note via Pine.  Zinnia was spending a lot of time helping Rose prepare for New Year’s Eve and taking the visiting fairies around during the day, but she tried to stop by each evening to give her friend some company and update her on the gossip.  She felt a little trapped in her room, and she eagerly anticipated things getting back to normal when the court left, but she found herself looking forward to seeing the king each day.  Strangeness aside, it was probably the most pleasant holiday season she’d had since her grandmother had passed.

A steaming lake surrounded by white-capped mountains.  Merchants. Plague.  A policeman dies in the street.  Marisha.  Masks.  A shining blade with a wooden inlay.  Ilyn with a dozen wounds, writhing in the dirt.  Zinnia throws a flower in a grave.  A fairy child hides.  Pine with an arrow through his chest.  Savita covered in dirt, on her knees, screaming, screaming.  A hundred wolf heads on a hundred pikes turn into the heads of men.  A tiny body is tossed on a pyre.  William and Savita and Luka curl up together in the hold of a ship, hiding from the light.  Julia screams as she dies.  Luka gives a bundle to a woman without a face.  A shepherd stands in a clearing, guarding his sheep.  Three of the sheep peel off their coats to reveal wolves beneath.  They approach the shepherd, sneaking up behind him as he looks for enemies outside the flock.  Their eyes glow.  Their fangs drip with saliva.  They make no sound as they prepare to pounce.

She woke thrashing in her tangled sheets, whimpering, Ilyn and Pine looking down on her with concern.  It was the third day of Christmas.  As they helped her sit up, she looked around in confusion.  The vision had been such a mish-mash that she was having difficulty orienting back to the present.

“Are you alright, little one?” the king asked solicitously.  She looked at him blankly, not certain he was real.  She reached out a hand and touched him on the tip of his nose with one finger like a curious toddler.  Ilyn turned to Pine with a raised eyebrow.

“You might have to give her a minute, your grace.  She gets pretty disoriented after the really bad ones.  It can take a while before she starts making sense,” Pine explained.  November started to shiver as her sweat evaporated.  Pine pulled out a clean blanket from the closet and wrapped her in it.  As her bodyguard, it was hardly the first time he’d had to play the priest to her oracle.  She began to rock, clutching the blanket tightly around her.

Suddenly, November spoke with quiet urgency to no one in particular, in a voice not quite her own.  “The wolves in sheep’s clothing.  They strike at the shepherd.  One at his heel.  One at his heart.  One at his throat.  Three.  Three.  Three wolves in sheep’s clothing.”

She stopped rocking and looked up, her eyes finally in focus.  She saw their faces: worried, puzzled, and in Ilyn’s case, fascinated.  “Well, that one was a little wild,” she finally said with a weak smile.  “I’m okay now, I think,” she added, pulling away a bit from the two men sitting on her bed.  She appreciated their care, but she still wasn’t used to having help like that, and she was extremely self-conscious about being seen in such a state.

“What do you need?” Ilyn asked her.  She smiled, genuinely surprised and touched.  She had been certain he had been about to say, “What did you see?”

“Breakfast and a bath, then a paper and pencil,” she answered.

“I’ll go get you something from the kitchen,” the king said, jumping up to leave.

“That’s really not necessary, your grace.  I’ll run down there in a few minutes,” she replied.  She didn’t want him to go to the trouble.  She couldn't even imagine him going to the trouble.  She was also a bit concerned that he would come back with a bowl of flour or something.  After all, he hadn’t eaten anything but blood since before Christ was born.

“No trouble.  And don’t worry, I’ve been paying attention.  I’ll get you what you always have.”  And with that, he was out the door.

She exchanged incredulous looks with Pine.  “Did the king seriously just go to fetch my yogurt and granola?”

“Yep.  Don’t see that every day.”  He shook his head.  “I’ll be outside if you need me?”  She nodded, and he resumed his perch in the hallway while she took a very long, very hot shower.  By the time she dressed and emerged, the king was back at her desk, and her breakfast was laid out on a tray on her bed.  There was also a tall beer mug half-full of blood on the desk.  November wondered what had happened to the redhead.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” he replied.  Rather than returning his attention to the desk as usual, he studied her as she ate.  She tried to ignore him with not very much success.  “Does that happen to you a lot?  Such strong, disturbing visions in your sleep?” he asked.

She swallowed before replying, “All the time.”

“That must be difficult.  Do you remember them when you wake?”

“It’s awful.  For years I was afraid to go to sleep.  I’m used to it now, though.  I can usually shake it off.  And yes, I remember every detail of every vision, not that they always make any sense.”  She didn’t mention the blissful, dreamless sleep that only vampire bites could provide her.  She tried to make herself forget that it was an option, but every night as she laid her head on the pillow, she thought about it with longing.  “This one was a little worse than usual.”