The Journal of Vincent Du Maurier Trilogy (Books 1, 2, 3) (24 page)

I unlocked the chains while Paul described
the vampire.

“What … what …” Beck’s words were few and
disconnected.

“The screams woke me,” Paul said.

I had not heard Tim scream.

“The girl’s screams,” Paul said. “I thought
it was an animal.” He told me that when he saw the chains, he woke the other
two. “I thought it was you,” he said. “The whistling—I thought it was
you.”

Beck leaned over the body of his fallen
friend and sobbed. “Tim was closest to the door,” he said. “Timmy … was …
closest.”

“I couldn’t see his face,” Paul said. “But I
knew—I knew—it wasn’t you.”

“Did he speak?” I asked.

By now I had suspected it was the nomad, but
when they described his voice, I knew.

“It was sinister, dark,” Paul said. “And he
was speaking Russian or something like that.”

“Romanian,” I said.

“You know him then?” I assumed there was no
reason to deny it. “He just—just—jumped—pounced like an
animal right on …” Paul said, dropping his chin.

I was grateful I had been with the girl. If
not, Wallach may have found her instead. Alessandra would not have had the
wherewithal to take him. I did not need to guess why he stopped at Tim. He had
vomited up the man’s ichor shortly after consuming it. I assumed his affinity
for animal blood had become so powerful he could no longer stomach human. “I
need to take the body with me,” I said.

I snatched up the remains before the men could
protest and left the hovel. I will track the nomad and make him pay for his
trespass.

11 December.
—
I spent the night looking for Wallach, but he is gone. Before I
went out, I moved the men closer to the other two. I left Alessandra to watch
over all of them—in retrospect, probably not the most rash decision.

“Will we be safe here?” Paul asked.

It was a fair question, though one I did not
answer. “You will not be put in restraints again,” I said.

“Tim believed you—we all did,” Paul
said, “when you told us we’d be safe here.” I could not change the past. “I
still want to believe that,” he said.

“I shall renew my efforts to keep you safe,”
I said.

When I left Wallach on the rock ledge near
the bluff, I was certain he was finished. His appearance in my camp meant there
would be others. Paul sat by the hearth, placing logs on the fire one at a
time, while Beck lay on the stone floor with his back to us.

“I’m sure Tim didn’t know what was
happening,” Paul said. “It was worse for us.”

I was only slightly surprised by his
narcissism.

“It was traumatic—the horror,” Paul
said. “He gripped Tim by the scalp and yanked his head back then stuck one of
his long claws into his neck—right here.”

Paul showed me the spot to which he referred.
It was almost as if he needed to share the details with me.

“Right in the jugular,” he said. “Blood went
everywhere—and he stuck out his tongue and put his mouth on the
wound—and then—”

“Shut up,” Beck said.

Paul looked at me and I restrained myself
from licking my lips.

“Just shut up,” Beck said again. “Shut up.”

I excused myself then, telling them
Alessandra and I would be watching over them all night. I had already turned my
back to go when Beck lunged at me. I had not seen him stand up. I almost
laughed when I felt his tiny hand on my throat, but the steel of the pistol
abated the urge.

“Kneel,” he said.

“Beck,” Paul said. “What are you doing?”

Paul moved toward his friend. Beck tried to
close his hand around my throat but could not get a grip. He pressed the gun to
my temple and though I did not feel the barrel on my skin, I knew a bullet at
close range could do some damage.

“You’re the reason he’s gone,” Beck shouted.
“It’s your fault—you killed him.”

“Beck.” Paul matched his intensity, enraging
him even more. I was calm, as I strategized my escape—and his demise.

“No,” Beck said. “If he didn’t lock us
up—we could’ve got away. Tim could’ve—I would’ve shot the bastard
just like I’m going to shoot this one.”

He pressed the gun into my temple,
emphasizing each word with a tap on my skin. He was too excited to notice my
flesh did not give under the pressure.

“Beck,” Paul said, “you don’t want to do
this. Vincent’s not to blame here.”

“Bul-l-l-l-l-l-shit.”

He was hostile, getting louder with each
objection. I tried to seduce him with my words, using the melodic tone I had
relied on so often in the good ole days. “I know your pain,” I said, “I have
lost loved ones too—”

“Shut the fuck up!” My charm was not
effective with everyone.

He cursed and raged, as he squeezed my throat.
He must have felt the texture of my skin, he must have noticed his grip
failing; he could not damage my flesh and his hand probably hurt from the
tension. I assumed he would tire before pulling the trigger. As I sat there
with the raving man’s barrel on my temple, I wondered how I had missed his
having a gun. I suppose it never occurred to me they would be armed.

“You will pay for Tim’s—” The man’s
grip faltered, as he swallowed his words. The gun went flying across the dirt
floor and he fell to the ground beside me. I looked up at Helgado, standing
over Beck with the butt end of his machete poised.

“The baby sleeps,” he said in broken English.
“I don’t have … how you say … want this loud voices to wake her.”

Paul nodded. “We’re sorry,” he said. “He’s
just …”

Helgado held up his hand to Paul, brushing
off his excuses before leaving the hovel as discreetly as he had arrived.

I smiled—I would have never thought the
boy would be saving me.

12 December.
—
I spoke with Alessandra when I returned at dawn.

“He is gone,” I said.

“Will he be back?”

“I cannot be sure,” I said. “But I doubt he
only came for the men.”

“The baby?”

“Her, Evelina,” I said. “Me. Revenge is a
strong motivator.”

“He must be nothing to you,” she said. “You
can destroy him, no?”

Yes—but I thought I had. “I do not know
how he made it past the bloodless in the field,” I said. “He must have scaled
the cliff from the sea.”

“Didn’t you feel him coming?”

I did not want to answer that—knowing I
had not heard his frequency bothered me. I brushed off the question and asked
about the newborn.

“She is healthy,” Alessandra said. “Evelina
is … well, she suffers a little I think.”

“How so?” I had not felt her sorrow or pain
since the nomad showed up. The death of the other has kept me occupied.

“She’s asking for you,” she said.

“Has she eaten?” I could not feed if she had
not.

“No,” she said. “She tells me she’s
nauseated.”

I tried to subdue the pang of thirst that hit
me when I thought of her suckling the child. “Is the baby feeding?”

Alessandra nodded as though nostalgic for
better days, human days.

“And how did you handle all that blood?” I
asked.

She sighed. “It was easy,” she said. “I’ve
fed on animal blood too long to desire anything else.”

“You know human blood gives you more
strength,” I said. “It makes you—”

“I know,” she said. “But I can’t.”

I respected her decision, though I could not
understand it. I assumed her nature was inauthentic, as was her genesis. I felt
sorry for her—it is no way for a vampire to live.

“Go see Evelina,” she said. “She’s looking
for you.”

Later.
— I delayed seeing her
for as long as I could. If she had not eaten, I could not taste the thing I
wanted most. I did not think I could sit with her if I could not feed. When I
finally gave in, I found her with the baby asleep in her arms. I could
distinguish the two smells now—the mother’s being the only one I desired.

She smiled at me. “You look hungry,” she
said. “Come, let me feed you.”

It sounds macabre, I know. She held her
newborn near her breast, but wanted to nurse me instead. I would not resist her
for long.

“I’m ready again,” she said. “The baby’s here
now and we can go back to like it was.”

She dropped her head to the side and
stretched her shoulder downwards. It was perfectly perverse to bite the nape of
a new mother. My fangs dropped. I sat beside her and caressed her neck, as the
boy came into the hovel.

“She has to eat first,” he said.

I turned to him with a scowl. I could have
ripped open his chest for the interruption.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I’m not hungry.”

I was not a complete devil. “You have to eat
something,” I said.

The boy took the baby from her and placed it
in the bassinet, and then offered her a handful of cherries. She put them in
her lap, plucking off the stem one at a time before popping them into her
mouth. Her lips and teeth were soon stained red and I ran my tongue over mine
in anticipation. I had never desired to kiss the girl until that moment. A
blood obsession will do that—it can fool one into thinking they are in
love. I have seen many vampires fall into that trap. It never leads to anything
good.

When the boy left, I sat down beside her
again.

“What?” She asked. “Why are you looking at me
like that?”

She sighed, as she bit into another cherry,
sucking on it before chewing it up. I waited for her to offer herself to me
again but her thoughts moved on to other things. She reached for the sack of
Dilo seeds tucked beside her cot and clutched it in her hands. Clearly
emotional, she started to cry. “I know they’re coming,” she said.

She could not have known about Wallach. We
had agreed not to tell her.

“Who?” I asked. “The bloodless?”

“The ones in my dreams.”

“The bloodless cannot breach the walls,” I
said. “Not with the plants there.”

“These bloodless can,” she said.

She was being foolish and temperamental but I
was tolerant for the moment. I wanted to settle her down so I could enjoy my
long delayed nip. The baby stirred in the bassinet and I asked if I should
bring her to the girl. “She’ll be fine,” she said coldly.

“Have you chosen a name yet?” I knew she had
named the baby after her sister but I was not sure if she had made it official.

“There’s no point in naming her,” she said.

“Why?”

“She won’t live long,” she said.

I admit I was taken aback by her austerity.
“My darling girl,” I said. “Do not let your feelings overpower you. They will
pass.”

“Feelings,” she said. “They’re not just
feelings. I know—I know we’re doomed.”

I had never seen an outburst quite like it.
She was willful and petulant, not like herself at all.

“Have I not kept you safe?” I asked. I did
not match her melodrama but remained stoic, if not compassionate. “What more
can I do?” When her despair shifted to adoration, I realized the boy had come
back into the room.

“Alessandra wants to see the baby,” he said.

He picked up the bassinet and carried it out
of the hovel. Evelina looked away and sighed. I wondered if she was not
suffering some sort of trauma from the birth, some sort of psychological
side-effect. Byron had told me she would be hormonal, and perhaps even
depressed after the delivery. I wondered if this was what he meant. I attempted
to get up from her side to pour her a glass of grappa, but she held onto my
sleeve.

“No,” she said. “Don’t leave.” She took my
hands in hers. “Do you still desire me?”

I never desired you—just your blood.
“Of course,” I said. “We are bonded now.” I am obsessed, I freely admit it, but
I can control my addiction if I choose. I can overcome anything—even
desire.

“Now that the baby’s here,” she said, “what
good am I to you?”

I ran the back of my hand along the curve of
her clavicle. “Let me show you,” I said.

My subtle fangs dropped anew and I opened my
mouth slightly, exposing the points of my teeth to subdue the wildness in her
eyes. “Show me,” she whispered.

It sounds erotic, I know, but it is not
really equatable with human sex. Perhaps sharing the pleasure of a
hallucinatory drug is a more fitting analogy. Though my hunger for the girl is
not libidinal, my lust for her blood is undeniable. I will suffer almost
anything to ingest a drop of it. And some days, I feel like I have.

As I pulled her blood up into my mouth,
letting it slide down my throat, I relished the shot of adrenaline it gave my
heart, kicking it into beat. My muscles tensed with the power she gave me. When
I felt our exchange come to a close, when her body collapsed in my arms, I
withdrew my bite, but like a soft breeze upon a stone I felt Evelina’s hand
resist my egress. She held me in place, trying to prevent me from pulling out.