The Journal of Vincent Du Maurier (Book 1) (14 page)

“Were you scared?” Evelina asked.

“Of what?”

“Anything—everything,” she said with a
giggle.

His grandstanding bored me, as he shook his
head, once again faking bravado for the girl. “A monk came to greet me as soon
as I crossed over into the darkness.”

“They were safe?” Evelina asked.

“They are totally isolated, living separate
from everything, they haven’t experienced it yet.”

“How is that possible?”

“They don’t have communication with the
outside world.”

“But …” Evelina was confused. She could not detect
his lie. I am in fact familiar with that particular area on the coast of the
Ligurian Sea and know of no monasteries there.

“They fed me and gave me fresh clothes after
allowing me to take a hot bath,” he said. “They even gave me my own room and I
slept for like fifteen hours straight or something.”

“But did you tell them?” Evelina asked.

“I wanted to, but I couldn’t. Every monk takes
a vow of silence and I had to do the same if I stayed.”

“But how could you not tell them?” The girl’s
voice cracked. “What if one of them dies?”

“I was sworn to silence.”

“But you could have passed them a note.”

“I tried,” he said, “but Brother Clemente wouldn’t
accept it.”

“But …”

“Their Order forbids them from receiving info
from the outside world.”

“Why did they take you in then?” Evelina
asked.

Ah-ha! She was paying attention—perhaps
he will be forced to admit his lies.

“Their only activities are prayer and
meditation but if a stranger comes, they have to offer him a seat at their
table in case it’s an angel in disguise.”

“Oh,” Evelina said. “That’s beautiful.”

I could not believe he filled her head with
such nonsense.

“They’re men of God,” he said. “They believe
everything that happens to them is his will.” He looked up when he said
his.

Evelina pouted a little. “But if they die,
they’ll all become…”

Bloodless.

11 November.
— I often write long
into the night. The boy sleeps in his father’s bedroom while the girl uses the
room across the hall from him. On the second night he was here, he took his rucksack
and slipped into the room quietly after Evelina had gone down. He turned the
lock in the door after he closed it and dragged a chair over to lodge beneath
the knob. He did not trust me, though I have yet to show him how treacherous I
can be. He and Evelina have grown close. His shoulder seems to be healing,
which I think is due to her attention. She fawns over him. They eat together
and talk about childish, petty human burdens, though the other day I overheard
him ask her about me.

“Vincent saved me,” she said.

“Were you alone?”

“No,” she said. “I had a stepfather—and
a sister.”

He was quiet, though I knew he wondered about
her baby. Evelina showed now and her condition was obvious.

“Vincent’s not the father,” she said.

“I didn’t want to pry.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “The father was
Marco.”

“He’s gone?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh no,” she said. “It’s for the
best—he’s—he was my stepfather.” Helgado sighed. “After my mother
died,” she said. “He took care of me and Lucia.”

“Lucia?”

“My sister,” she said.

“Did your mother die in the plague?”

“No,” she said. “I guess she was lucky.”

“So Marco—”

“He never touched me before,” she said. “I
was a lot older when we—”

“I’m sorry Evie,” he said.

She sniffled, obviously upset by their
conversation. “It’s okay,” she said. “My baby’s the only reason I’m alive.”

“How so?”

“If I wasn’t carrying this baby,” she said, “Vincent
and the others would’ve … uh.”

“Others?”

I stepped into the room to deflect any
unwanted truths. Needless to say, the conversation died with my entrance.

Later.
— This evening, when Evelina
had gone to her room, I followed her. “You must be careful with our guest,” I
said.

“Why?” She asked. “Don’t you trust him?”

“I cannot afford to take such chances.”

She looked at me softly and reached for my
hand. “I won’t leave you,” she said. “I promise.”

She thinks I am jealous. I am not. I am
merely being cautious. I know she will not leave me—I would never let
her.

15 November.
— Things have been
cozy for several days and I itch for Evelina’s blood. I will need to recharge
again soon. I have not fed since the nip I took from him the night he arrived. He
is a distraction, though, as my curiosity about him fills my thoughts. This
afternoon I asked him about his plans.

“I wasn’t really going to stay,” he said.
“But this injury is really holding me up.”

“Were you heading somewhere in particular
after coming here?”

“No definite plans,” he said.

“Why did you return to the villa?” I switched
my tone to something less interrogative.

He sat at the dining nook, polishing his
machete. He could not know how ineffective his show of intimidation was. “I
needed to get something,” he said.

He was a bit evasive but I avoided conflict
and let it drop until Evelina woke from her nap. She was our best referee. If I
could have stolen a bite without his knowing, in the meantime, I would have. I
would do anything to quell the desire I have for her blood.

When Evelina was back at his side, she was
able to get the answers I could not.

“What is that?” She asked.

Helgado had pulled a small paper photograph
from his pocket, a rarity even before the plague. Obsolete since 2029, they had
been replaced by glass-plated holograms. The photograph was torn but he held it
by its edges anyhow.

“I’ve never seen one,” Evelina said.

He passed it to her carefully, showing her
how to hold it lightly between the tips of her fingers. She exhaled softly
before she smiled. “What a beautiful woman!”

“My mother,” he said. “Papa took that one a
few days after I was born.”

“That’s you,” she said. “Look Vincent!”

Aloof as usual, I only looked over at the
image when she insisted. The woman, his mother I suppose, stood in a trite pose
on the front steps of the villa. She held one hand up to her brow to block the
sun and the other around the bundle at her chest. I could see the family
resemblance since she looked about Helgado’s age when the photo was taken.

“She left us,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Evelina’s voice was small
but strident. “Did she die?”

“No,” he said. “She just disappeared one day
from our garden.”

“Without saying goodbye?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I was still a baby.
Papa didn’t talk much about it.”

“So you’ve never met her?”

“I was a baby. She had trouble, I guess.”

“Was she sick?” Evelina asked. “Why do you
need the picture now?” She gave it back to him, and he studied it again.

“I couldn’t remember her face,” he said.

“Do you think she’s still around?” Evelina
asked.

He contemplated the image for a moment. “Yes,”
he said. “And I need to see her.”

“Why?” She asked.

“I just do,” he said.

He gave her a sour look, but then seemed to
regret it. He patted her on the back of the hand before withdrawing to his
father’s chamber for the night. The girl went to bed shortly after.

16 November.
— I slipped out for
food this evening once the sun went down.

“No,” Evelina said when I told her I was
going. She was upset at my decision to leave, and I will admit I was rather
surprised by the effect it had on her. I was certain she would enjoy some time alone
with the boy.

“You will be safe here,” I said. “With
Helgado.” I had already lectured him on watching her in my absence and making
sure she was safe.

“We’ll be fine,” he said. “But how’ll you get
past them on your own?”

The howls have intensified over the last few
nights, and the neighborhood is still infested.

“Same as you,” I said. “I would imagine.”

Slightly depleted, I convinced myself I had enough
strength for a quick run into the village. Evelina needed food and Helgado had
told me about a neighbor’s storage shed several streets over.

“Mr. Rabizzi’s place is white with a black
roof and green trellis on the front wall. It’s hard to miss. The shed is in the
back, probably still padlocked.”

He offered me his rucksack, bolt cutters and
flashlight. I was not going to need the tools but I took them anyway. Before I
left, Evelina stopped me at the door. “Take this please,” she said, shoving a
little vial into my hand. Her pale complexion evinced the gift.

“You must not do this,” I said, returning the
vial. “I cannot.”

I would have relished the taste of her blood
again, but that was the problem. Like opiates to an addict, there was no return.
I believed I had finally recovered from my fits of desire for her taste—I
could not fall for her again.

“Please!” She pleaded with me softly so the
boy could not hear.

“Keep it for me,” I said. “I will be back.” She
looked wretched when I left, but outside the fresh night air cleared me of my
empathy. I love the feel of darkness on my skin.

The bodies that once lay on the front step of
the villa had dissolved into a black, tarlike substance. Spread across the
cobblestones, the tar acted as a barrier to keep all the others away. I did not
stop to examine the substance, but propelled myself over the ooze to reach the
other side of it. I noticed a few bloodless wandering across the way and one
stuck in a fence further down the hill. I made use of Helgado’s directions and
hurried to the shed two streets away. As I turned the second corner, I slipped into
the garden on the left and made my way through the hedges at the end.

Everything went smoothly until I saw the
white house with the black roof and green trellis, where a large swarm of
bloodless communed on the front lawn as if waiting for me to arrive. I dodged
them, tucking into the side yard. I needed to find a way around to the back
without crossing the front, so I decided to climb the neighbor’s wall and get
onto the roof where I could reach the shed from there.

A sense of familiarity, similar to the one I
experienced the night Helgado arrived, gnawed at my gut. I was not alone,
though the horizon offered me nothing but open space and the howls of bloodless.
I rushed across the roof, barely touching the peak, as I hopped to the one next
to it. When I got to the back of the house, the yard was empty but the swarm in
the front was close. I dropped down onto the grass and pulled out the bolt
cutters, as I rushed to the shed. I wanted to preserve as much energy as I
could, and foregoing the use of my talons would help. The padlock hung on the
door intact, if only a little rusted. I was quiet, as I pinched the metal and
snapped the lock open.

The clang of a bell in the distance
interrupted me, as the clock in the village square sounded. It was the first
time I heard it since our arrival, but the mystery of its clanging did not
distract me from my mission. I slipped into the shed, grateful the howls faded,
as the swarm moved toward the center of town. I hustled to shove cans and jars
of preserves, packages of dried meat and fruit, and bottles of water into the
rucksack. When I had filled the bag, I loaded every one of my pockets, and then
closed the shed behind me, placing the broken padlock back through the bolt.

I headed around the side of the house with
the heavy rucksack, still able to maneuver my way through the streets efficiently,
but when I reached the last leg of my journey up to the villa, I encountered a
swarm greater than the one I had dodged on the front lawn. I assumed the bell
diverted all of them, but obviously a larger group eschewed the distraction and
were now making their way through my very path. The howls escalated when they
sensed my presence. I ran despite them, barreling through the herd with all my
force, which is when I realized the bloodless were drawn to my own clanging, as
the bolt cutters dangled at my side. I ripped the tool from my belt and tossed it
away, redoubling my effort to knock down the bloodless, even as they grabbed
for me. As I rounded the last corner up the hill, I could see the front steps
of the villa and pushed my body beyond its state of depletion, seeing stars before
lunging forward and hitting the ground. As though in slow motion, I had tripped
over the decayed corpse at my feet, landing prostrate on the concrete.