The Journal of Vincent Du Maurier Trilogy (Books 1, 2, 3) (23 page)

As the men slogged through the forest, I
wanted to race. Time stood still and every single thing appeared to be made of
stone—like me. The solid trees were like pillars standing at the gates of
Zeus—the leaves were crystallized effigies strung up on titanium
branches—the ground beneath my feet sounded with a great boom each step I
took, the earth shaking as though its plates shifted every time I laid my foot
down—and I smelled all the animals, dead and living.

We came across a trail of small game that looked
like it had been drained of its blood, and the men tripped over the carcasses,
as we passed. The darkness hid everything from them and they clung to me, as I
led them through it. “We are almost at the ravine,” I said.

When I saw two of the bloodless up ahead, I
laid the injured man down and told the others to stay put. I checked the forest
around us and when I did not see a swarm, I left the men where they were and
moved toward the bloodless. I pulled out another little handful of
powder—reaching into my pocket was like wading through syrup, my limbs
were heavy and rigid, their weight almost more than I could bear—and
moved slowly toward the fiends. When I was finally close enough, I brought my
hand to my mouth and blew the powder at them. It seemed to float in midair,
revealing each separate grain of dust. The bloodless could not flee the wrath
of the plant and they howled when the powder stung them as acid ate skin. I
returned to the men when the bodies dropped to the ground.

“Are they gone?” Tim asked.

“How did you do that?” Beck asked. “Your
speed … it’s impossible.”

“You could see me?” I asked.

“One minute you were right here, and then the
next—I could hear them—drop—it’s like you never left.”

Only I experienced the slow motion. “We have
to keep moving,” I said, picking up Paul and slinging him over my shoulder.

When we finally reached the ravine, I put the
injured man down on its ridge and splashed water on his face. I handed the
other two the canteens and told them to fill them. “I am going to head a little
further down stream to catch some fish,” I said.

Before I left, I pointed to the cart and
suggested they place their friend on it to await my return. Their whispers
reached me, as I disappeared into the shadows.

“How can he see in the dark?”

“He’s not human,” Tim said.

“What is he then? Cause he sure isn’t one of
them …”

I followed the edge of the ravine, noticing
how the rushing water looked stagnate. I could see each droplet, as it clung to
another and moved in a herd to the pool at its end. The water revealed its
treasures to me, from the amebas sucking parasites off the rocks on the pool’s
floor to the trout wading just below the surface. I dunked my hands in the
fresh stream and stabbed five fish, one with each talon, pulling them up and
slinging them on the belt at my waist.

Before I could plunge my hand in a second
time, I heard his cry. I rushed to the men, as the scream died on the air. The
bloodless had caught Tim by surprise, grabbing him as he relieved himself
behind a tree. Beck moved toward the bloodless with a broken branch but I beat
him to it and stuck my dagger in its neck, severing head from spine. The fiend
still had the chunk of human flesh between his teeth, as more bloodless
gathered through the trees, enticed by the bloody wound of the injured man.

“We have to go,” I said.

I put Tim on the cart with Paul, telling Beck
to stay close. He kept pace with a jog, as I transported his friends, and his
stamina surprised me. When we were near the village, the howls increased and a
small swarm rose up behind us. “Keep moving,” I said. “It is just through that
cluster of trees.” Another swarm gathered in front of us, blocking our path to
the entrance, but the side wall lay straight ahead and I knew if I could get us
close enough, we would be under the aegis of the powder.

“Vincent!” Alessandra’s voice rose as a
beacon amidst a treacherous shoal.

The vampire bounded over the wall and rushed
through the barricade of bloodless, forcing bodies to scatter, as she tossed a
sack of powder at them. Two of them came at us, but I slashed them with my
talons. Beck had dropped down under the cart to hide from the swarm and I told
him to get up. “We have to move,” I said.

Like a mother bear rescuing her cub,
Alessandra grabbed the man and tucked him close to her body, bounding through
the danger and up the wall to get him to safety. I followed with the cart and
we were over the wall and in our haven almost instantly.

It is too early to know if bringing them here
was the right thing to do, but I have already indulged in a second nip from the
older one while he slept. I may have some explaining to do in the morning.

8 December.
— The bloodless have
arrived. The powder keeps them off the wall, but they linger nonetheless.
Evelina has cotton in her ears to block out the sound of their feverish howls.
I placed the men far away from the girl in the hovel I had been using as a
retreat. A small mattress, a couple of stools, and a table—a remnant from
the wood door that had once barred the entrance—make up its surroundings.
I removed my personal effects, writing instruments and a small collection of
books, and put them in the abandoned smithy. We fed the men, gave them candles
and built them a fire pit. Helgado furnished them with a pile of wood and
Alessandra attended to their medical needs. “The man’s arm is healing,”
Alessandra said shortly before dawn. “It doesn’t look infected.”

“Impossible,” I said. “I saw the wound.”

She smiled with those bright white fangs of
hers. “I’m no doctor,” she said, “but I wanted to try something on him.” I
raised an eyebrow. “I made a balm,” she said, “with one of the seeds and a bit
of salt water. I guess it’s working.”

“Just the powder and salt water?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “I added the smallest trace
of venom.” She squinted as though fearing my disapproval.

“Your venom?” I was not surprised she used
her venom this way—its natural byproduct is potentially curative. Since
the clone is unable to reproduce, her venom is not harmful to humans.

When I went to see for myself, I confirmed
her instincts had served her well. Tim’s bite is healing rather miraculously.
His flesh wound has closed up and is now covered with a scab.

“It’s better,” he said, as he pulled down his
coat sleeve. “Whatever she put on it—it started to feel better right
away.”

“And you?” I turned to inspect Paul.

“Leg’s a bit better,” he said. “The sleep
helped … but I was wondering if you had anything for this?”

He lifted his arm and showed me the puncture
marks my fangs had made beneath his bicep. His small wounds were not healing
and his skin was bruised. The barbiturates in his system, the lingering sores,
the injured leg, all told me he was an ailing man. “I will see what I can do,”
I said.

Beck shrugged. “I’m fine,” he said. “But
hungry.”

I left them, promising to return with more
food. I would have to keep them fed if I was to continue eating too. Helgado
met me, as I made my way toward the smithy.

“I need to speak to you,” he said. He was
abrupt, agitated. “Why did you bring them here?”

“Because they are human,” I said.

“Blood,” he said. “That’s all you ever think
about.”

“Better theirs than yours, no?”

“So you’ll stop feeding off Evelina then?”

I smiled—I could not help it. His
ignorance got the better of me.

“Of course not,” he said. “Why would you? But
the baby—you better not touch that child.”

My mood darkened with his idle threats. I
raised a hand to his cheek and tapped it lightly. He tried to pull his head
away but found he could not move. I had wrapped my mind around his and locked
him place. My eyes penetrated his and I sneered, baring my subtle fangs. Using
my deepest register, I told him I did not like to be threatened. I released him
from my hold when his mother called to him from her hovel. She was inside for
the day, but always kept an eye on her boy. He stumbled backwards and fell to
the ground.

“Fuck you, Vincent.”

I left him sitting on the pathway and went to
seek out food for our guests.

Later.
— These men have a
secret. When I approached the hovel with their food, I caught the end of the
following debate.

“He can’t,” Paul said.

“You must’ve lost it when that thing grabbed
you,” Beck said.

“But I have to go back for it,” Tim said.
“What if she finds it?”

“Shush!” One of them said.

“Don’t mention her,” Beck said. “They can
hear each other.”

“Do you think,” Tim said, “he’s like her?”

“Yes,” Paul said. “He’s one of them.”

“We’ve got to leave then,” Tim said, sounding
slightly panicked.

“Where?” Beck said. “There’s no where to
hide.”

“Why don’t we just tell him?” Paul said.
“He’ll protect us.”

“What makes you think that?” Beck said.

“He’s been good to us so far,” Paul said. “He
saved us. And what about this? And yours too?”

“What about your meds?” Tim asked.

“I’m feeling good,” Paul said. “Really.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Beck said. “You look
like hell.”

“Nice,” Paul said. “Real nice.”

The men fell silent and I entered with
several cans of sardines and a bottle of wine.

“Perfect,” Tim said. “Thanks a lot.”

I bowed slightly and Beck leaned forward to
mirror my show of respect, which is how I noticed the pendant around his neck.
It was an emerald dragon set upon a flat gold backdrop. “May I?” I asked,
reaching for it.

“Uh,” he said. “Sure, it’s nothing—just
some cheap Chinese knockoff.”

I examined the small dragon. It was Chinese,
but I did not believe it was cheap. I recognized the Qing dynasty’s emblem
engraved on the back. The necklace was a relic belonging to Empress Cixi.

Beck cleared his throat, as I held the jewel
in my hand. “Really,” he said. “It’s nothing—from an old girlfriend.” He
laughed nervously.

“A memento?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, “just a stupid memento.”

I let the pendant go and it swung back and
forth before Beck caught it up in his hand and tucked it back under his shirt.
I could not begin to figure out how this man had acquired a necklace from the
Qing dynasty, let alone a piece that belonged to its Empress.

9 December.
— Although I had not
been gone long, I felt a strong sense of peace when I looked at the girl’s face
again. When I went in to see her, she was standing, as Alessandra helped her
walk off the mild contractions she had been having. Her hair was gently pulled
up off her neck, exposing her nape, and I noticed the flush in her cheeks from
the activity of her body. I could practically hear the pulse of her blood, as
her heart beat in rhythm with mine. Despite the nip from our new arrivals, I
could not wait to sink my fangs into her again.

“Stop staring,” she said. She giggled before
the pain made her pretty face contort. “Owww …” She stretched out her
expression through pursed lips.

“That’s a girl,” Alessandra said. “Deep
breaths. In and out.”

“Is the baby coming?” I asked.

“Not yet,” Alessandra said.

“No,” Evelina said. “You can stay.”

When the bout of pain finally passed,
Alessandra helped Evelina back onto the cot and then left us alone. Evelina
tapped the mattress beside her and beckoned to me—a quick flash of my
daydream made me hesitate before I sat next to her. The girl reached up and
touched my cheek.

“You look better,” she said. Her voice rang
with the slightest bit of jealousy. She knew I had fed off the men. “I suppose
you’re no longer hungry?”

“No,” I said. “Not at the moment.” It was a
lie. I could drink her blood until there was no more—famished or full.

She pouted, frowning a little. “Who are
they?” She asked.

It was not a conversation I wanted to have
with the girl.

“Just survivors,” I said. “Like us.”

“But where do they come from?”

They were not Italian—their English had
no accent. They could be American, but I was not sure. “I have not asked,” I
said.

“Do they have bloodless where they’re from?”
Her naiveté astounded me.

“I am most certain they do,” I said.

She tried to adjust her swollen belly, as she
lay on her side, but needed me for leverage. I held her up and she shifted her
body into a better position. She sighed heavily. “Alessandra says I’m due
tomorrow.”

“How does she know?” I asked.

“She says she can smell it.”

I did not doubt the clone’s prediction since
her nose would certainly know. I smelled the baby too with the same intensity
as she did, but not quite in the same way. I will have to occupy myself
tomorrow if it is true, if in fact the baby is coming. I cannot be around when
that child is thrust bloodily into our world.

“Vincent?” Her small voice pulled me from my
thoughts and I left her then, wondering no doubt what I was thinking, as I made
my way out of her hovel. I could no longer take the smell.

Later.
— The men are much
more interesting to spy on than converse with. Their private debates prove
entertaining.

“We have to get out of here,” Tim said.

“And go where?” Beck said.

“Anywhere safe,” Tim said.

“This is safe,” Beck said.

“How can we be safe with him?”

“He hasn’t done anything but help us and feed
us,” Paul said.

“And feed off us!”

“It’s better than being on that ship,” Beck
said.

“Right,” Tim said. “I know, but he’ll keep us
here too.”

“So?” Paul said. “It’s not so bad—we
have food and shelter, and other humans too.”

“The guy’s a weirdo,” Tim said. “He seems
pissed off about us.”

“But there’s a girl,” Paul said.

“The pale one?” Beck asked. “She’s not a …
woman.”

“She’s one of them too, you mean?”

“You can’t tell? Didn’t you see her jump over
the wall!” Beck said. “And her eyes? Look at her eyes next time she comes in.”

“This is crazy,” Tim said. “We’re going to
die here.”

“No,” Paul said. “This is how we survive.”

“How?”

“If he thinks we’re useful,” he said, “he’ll
keep us around.”

“Right,” Beck said. “We have to show him we
can help.”

“He knows we’re good for blood.”
 

10 December.
—
The clone was right, the baby is coming today. I am tucked in the
smithy, as I write this, trying desperately to think of you, Byron, and not the
girl. It is a challenge, my love. Her cries echo through the dusking streets. I
am in pain too, trapped with the memory of your torture. An endless loop of
suffering plays over and over in my mind, as I recall your writhing in the
bowels of the dark cathedral. I can only ignore the image when I am fully
engrossed in the occupation of our survival. But your end is always with me. I
kept a vile of the blood substitute, a token of the poison that took you from
me. The small trinket hangs about my neck, always next to my heart.

The baby is coming—but I will continue
to write to you my beloved so that I may distract myself from rushing to the
girl’s side—another one of her screams rips into me, as she is torn apart
by her labor. The temptation is great—I am longing to see it come into
the world. The points of my fangs tickle my gums—they have a plan of
their own. Perhaps I shall have just one peek at the blood dripping down the
inside of her thigh …

Do not resist
—
come, she begs me.

Later.
—
The child is magnificent.

Before I went to Evelina, I locked up the
men. I had found rusted manacles in the corner of the smithy shortly after I
moved in here. I knew they would come in handy. The men were sleeping when I
snuck in their hovel and tied the chains about their wrists. I plan on removing
them in the morning.

I watched the girl from a distance, from the
window unnoticed. It may seem odd I desired to witness such a human act, but
the child’s birth was of less importance to me than the blood her mother would
spill—my blood.

“Push again,” Alessandra whispered into her
ear, as she stood beside her and held her up.

The girl bore down, using the vampire as
leverage. The boy was there too, pacing uselessly in the corner.

“Bring me the water,” Alessandra said.

He obeyed his mother and brought over the cup
he had refilled.

“Evelina?” She asked. “How are you?”

She tapped the girl’s cheeks and then lifted
the cup of water to her lips. My girl did not speak. I could not see her face
from the window frame, just her hair matted and clinging to the back of her
robe. She was in a squatting position and I was reminded of the woman between
the olive trees. I licked my lips. Her pain seemed to lessen with my presence,
for she only moaned now.

“Push,” the vampire said. “You’re close.”
Alessandra bent down and looked at the girl’s opening. “I can see the crown.”
The vampire called her son over and directed him to guide the baby out when he
saw its head. “Just like I showed you,” she said.

Helgado took his place between Evelina’s
legs.

“That’s it, Evelina,” Alessandra said. “Keep
it up. You’re almost there.”

The girl’s scream was foreign—it was
low, guttural, demonic. Her head fell forward slightly and I heard the tearing
of her flesh.

“Good girl,” Alessandra said.
“Push—that’s it.”

The girl moaned again and unleashed another
cry unlike her own. The wail made her pain palpable and I bit into my lip. I
was desperate in that moment to relieve her of it, to take her away from the
horror she was forced to endure.

“One more!” Alessandra encouraged. “One
more!”

All the force seemed to dissipate from her
body with that one last push and she fell forward into the vampire, as the baby
slipped into the waiting arms of the boy. The air was silent for a moment
before mother and child both cried.

“She’s here,” Alessandra said. “You’ve done
it, Evelina. Lucia’s here.”

Lucia?

Alessandra carried the girl over to her cot
and laid her on it. The boy handed the newborn to his mother and she swaddled
it before laying it on Evelina’s chest.

“You can’t rest yet, child,” she said. “You
need to feed the baby.” The vampire coached the girl and the newborn.

I thought it would be difficult to resist the
smell of the blood—I thought the new life would drive me insane with a
vampire’s lust, but it did not. The sentimentality of seeing the human life
renew itself took hold of me, and I could not shake it. When I stepped away
from the window, I came back to the smithy to record my cloying
emotion—mawkish and shameful. I must climb the parapet and scan the
darkness for the bloodless, for they should straighten out my—

Later.
— Wallach has paid us
a visit. When I heard the men call for me, their panic was tangible. A second
cry for help rang through the streets, as I met Alessandra in the lane. “It’s
one of the men,” she said.

“Stay with the girl.”

I ignored the blood that stained her hands
and made my way to the men. I had not sensed his presence—his frequency
had gone unnoticed. I had been too taken with the birth, though I should have
felt something.

Gone before I arrived, the nomad had left a
devastating scene. Two of the men were still in chains, but the third was
yanked from his manacles, drained and lifeless on the hovel floor. Tim’s body
lay in a pool of regurgitated blood.

“Unlock us,” Paul said. “Before he returns.”

“Tim … he … he,” Beck said.
“I—I—I … can’t …”

“What did you see?” I asked, not knowing it was
Wallach until they described him.

“A man—a strong man,” Paul said.
“Whistling some—some tune—like—I don’t know—and he had
these—pointed blades for fingers.”