The Journal of Vincent Du Maurier Trilogy (Books 1, 2, 3) (43 page)

He laughed, irons and all, which made his aspect
even more frightening. When he yanked me up and placed me beside him again, he
said, “Where are you going? I wasn’t finished.”

Though his aspect had scared me, my belly burned at
the sight of him. His irons made me angry. He laughed again. “That’s it,” he
said. “Let that fuel you.”

“When will I get mine?” I asked.

“When you are ready,” he said. “Now look, I’ve
brought them out to show you just how useful they can be.” He took my hand in
his and brought the inside of my wrist up to one of his fangs, just barely touching
the razor edge against my hardened skin. With one swipe across my flesh, he
tore into it and revealed my gooey interior. I examined the clean tear in my
wrist, more interested in how he’d sliced my skin, than my innards. Huitzilli
retracted his iron fangs, though it looked painful to do so without their
having tasted blood. “So I’ll ask again, Tepin,” he said. “Do you know how the
jaguar takes down his prey?”

“He uses his fangs,” I said.

“Yes,” he said. “But the tool he uses is only half
of it. The way he uses that tool is everything.” He smiled and I thought his
face was the handsomest I’d ever seen—even more handsome than Vincent’s.
“The jaguar will disable his prey by either digging his canines into its neck,
suffocating it, or, more effective still, he’ll plunge his fangs into its head
to crush its skull and puncture its brain.” He admired the animal with a smile
directed out to sea, which I thought was probably also for his god. “Do you
know how much more effective iron fangs are for piercing skulls?”

I hadn’t seen Vincent use his fangs, but I nodded,
enthralled by Huitzilli and the beautiful brutality of the vampire’s tools.

“Can I do anything to make mine come sooner?” I
asked, eager to wield the same power. I didn’t question my gifts, the weapons
I’d gained upon awakening—human repulsion and reason had gone. To be
vicious and terrifying was to be perfect.

“First things first,” he said. “You must learn to
float.” He leaned his forehead against mine, and for a brief moment I felt the
intensity of his flesh. My fangs dropped, aroused by the Toltec. He brushed his
thumb across my lips as he’d done before, and then used his mind trick to
wrangle my thoughts and drain them like water passing through a sieve. He said,
“Trust your instincts, Tepin,” before my body sailed through the air and
plummeted into the sea, dropping to the bottom like a marble slab.

I was confused until I realized Huitzilli had tossed
me overboard and wasn’t coming in after me. This was a test like all the
others. But this one, more than any other, frightened me. Knowing I didn’t need
air to survive wasn’t consolation. If I couldn’t get my impossibly heavy body
up and out of the water, I’d be relegated to the depths of the bay forever. Did
Peter see me drop into the water? Would Huitzilli rescue me if I couldn’t get
up? I must have spent minutes, or maybe hours, contemplating wasted theories.
This was a test—no one would save me. We’d come out on deck when the moon
was still bright in the sky, so I had hours before sunrise. But hours may not
be enough.

I’d landed on my back and tried to turn myself over
to use my arms to push myself up to a standing position, but that was
impossible. I could barely move, let alone rotate my body. I felt the force of
the water bearing down on me, as if I were being sucked into the seabed beneath
me. I didn’t panic—at first—but when I realized I was stuck, fear
got the better of me and I felt the corners of my eyes tighten. The trapped
emotion wanted out and so I opened my mouth to release it with a scream. The
gush of salt water choked me and made my position worse, as the weight of the
water inside me pushed me deeper into the bed beneath me. I closed my eyes and
tried to visualize my hero reaching down into the depths to pull me up. But he
didn’t come.

I could feel my hair, long and buoyant, floating
around my crown and I pictured Ophelia drowned in the shallow bit of water. I
laughed inwardly when I thought how different our situations seemed—I was
alive but fully submerged. I could do this, I knew I could. I just needed to
concentrate and remember everything I’d been told. I was fearful when the
Empress tossed me around the room, and I was afraid when Huitzilli came at me
with his iron fangs in the ring. The fear was the thing they wanted me to conquer.
There was no more room for fear. Huitzilli said I have everything in me
already, and that my anger must fuel me. All the pain and fear I experienced as
a human was gone, or at least it should’ve been. Perhaps, I thought, I’m
holding on to some of it, which weighs me down. Vincent’s words reached me in
the sea’s dark silence:
Nostalgia will
choke you with every memory you clutch, so you must kill the urge to think of
the past. The past is gone, which is why you shall continue to right the
present.

As I thought of his words, I realized this was a
chance to right the present. My body was heavy and difficult to move through
water, but I was still stronger than the heaviness. I was powerful now, I was
immortal—I am immortal—and nothing can steal my life. I thought
about Mindiss and her threats, and my anger vexed me. I thought of my abusive
maker, and my anger plucked at me. I thought of Vincent’s cold, dismissive
attitude, his abandonment, his rejection, and my anger prodded at me. With the
last one, I was able to jerk my body up and onto my side, letting the momentum
of my weight pull me over onto my stomach. Rage was the key—if I hadn’t
known it before, I knew it then. As I recalled the fragments and pieces of
experience that made me angry, my strength grew. Soon I was pushing my body up
from the bottom of the sea. Gravity still weighed on me, like a magnet
clutching metal, but I fought against it and willed my body to twist up and
away from the force.

Believe me when I say it took me hours to win this
battle, to spin my body with enough momentum to drill my way up and out of the
water. When I finally broke the surface, a purpling sky welcomed me. The sun
was at the horizon, threatening to shine directly on me. The water showed signs
of glistening, as I turned around to face the ship. I was exhausted, starved,
but not yet close to the finish line. Huitzilli and Peter waved to me from the
ship’s deck. “Get up, Tepin,” Huitzilli shouted. “Or you’ll sink to the bottom
again.”

I’d no idea how to propel my heavy body out of the
water through the air and onto the ship, and almost felt like letting
everything go and sinking back to the bottom again. But then I saw
him—Vincent—high up on one of the ship’s towers, watching me under
a bluing sky. He knew I saw him, but he sat in stillness, observing the
exercise that tested my ability. I’d thought only rage could fuel me, but I
discovered that ego was a strong motivator too, and my need to impress Vincent
trumped all others. I closed my eyes, concentrated on the feel of my body,
remembering when Huitzilli had pinned me beneath his fist in the ring and I’d
relaxed every muscle in my body to float out and up from his hold. I tried the
same method and let my muscles melt beneath my flesh. My effort was futile,
though, for I didn’t move a bit, and when I opened my eyes again and looked up
at Vincent, he was gone. I slowly sunk down below the waterline, hearing the
shouts of my trainer and mentor, as they goaded me.

“Do this, Tepin,” Huitzilli said. “Now, before the
sun rises and burns you to ash.”

Peter shouted, “Get out of the water, Evelina. You
must get out.”

I renewed my effort, recalling my anger and bringing
it to the fore to fuel my abandoned self once again. “Fuck, Vincent,” I
whispered, though it was out of character for me to use such profanity. “Fuck
him. Fuck, Vincent,” I said repeatedly like a mantra for success. My rage
boiled, as the fire ripped through me and stimulated every muscle in my
hardened body. With the magic of the Hummingbird, I floated up and pulled my
wet body out of the water, taking leaps toward the ship. I could only climb the
ladder to board, and had to make my way around the stern and along the ship’s
other side. When I got to the hull, I slapped my hands on the vessel just above
the waterline and pulled myself through the sea, letting the metal guide me. I
was exhausted by the time I reached the ladder, but I pressed on, feeling the
dawning of the sun’s heat. I pulled myself up onto the second rung, and lifted
my legs with every last ounce of strength I had. “Fuck, Vincent,” I whispered,
as I ignored the throbbing in my head. The growing heat on my flesh numbed me,
but I bounded up the ladder, having gained some energy when my body hit the
air, as though freed from an anchor.

I was surprised when I reached topside and stepped
onto the deck, and Vincent greeted me. “Good, Evelina,” he said. He didn’t
smile, but wasn’t scowling either. He reached for my hand and pulled me into
the shade of a dingy hanging overhead. “We need to get you inside,” he said.

I didn’t ask for Huitzilli or Peter, grateful I was
with him—only him. My anger dissolved when he touched my hand at the
railing and pulled me into the shade. I forgot the mantra that had given me the
strength to pass the test.

“You’ll need to feed,” he said. “A donor’s waiting
for you in your compartment.”

Vincent led me through the passageways quickly,
eager to get me back into my cabin. The ship was quiet, and the only sound I
heard was the sparrow, as it guided me. I could almost hear the hum of my own
signal, desperate to be in sync with the other. I wanted to tell him how much I
missed him, and was determined to do so the moment we reached the privacy of my
compartment …

Entry 6

I think I daydreamed for a time, dropping the pencil
and shutting the book. I’m waiting for him to return with another offering. I’m
hungry still—so—so—so—hungry. I’d welcome the feral
dreck … anything to keep from drying up …

When Vincent brought me back to my compartment, he
didn’t come inside, though he lingered on the threshold until I’d settled in
and started feeding on Muriel. Blood seemed more desirable than him for the
first time, and I satisfied my hunger despite my discontented heart. Finished,
I got up from the berth and paced my small cabin, urging the blood high to work
its way through me and ease my aching muscles. The salve didn’t take long, but
I healed more slowly than I’d done when my arm was pulled from its socket.
Perhaps Hal’s blood was more potent than Muriel’s. I studied the strawberry
blond, seeking her neon colors. I decided it was a trick of the den, its
lighting manipulated for effect, an elevated pleasure of some sort.

“Do you know Hal?” I didn’t ask if Muriel had to
leave immediately. I hadn’t noticed Veor, or another bodyguard when we arrived,
so I thought perhaps she’d have to wait for her escort.

She was still a bit groggy, but she lay back on the
berth and stirred when I spoke. She looked up at me with soft eyes and said,
“Yes, but he lives in a different section.”

“Why? Does the Empress separate men and women?”

She shook her head. “I need to tell you something,”
she said. “I have a message from Vincent.”

“What is it?” I was eager to hear anything from my
beloved, even if it came from the mouth of a donor.

“He wants you to only feed on me,” she said.

“Why?”

“I can’t say,” she said. “To be honest, I was
surprised he said it. But he insisted that I be your only donor.”

“Does he only drink your blood?”

“No,” she said. “Mine and another girl’s.”

My anger almost brought me to my knees, my
fingertips burning and my chin feeling like it’d been whacked, as jealousy’s
spiteful twin ate from my gut. I muted my anger, though, not wanting to
frighten Muriel. “What other girl?” I asked, desperate to sound normal. It
pained me to think of the young girl’s color, her taste, her beauty. He must’ve
found her appealing, at least enough to feed on her when he could’ve been
satisfied with Muriel’s blood, as I’m expected to be.

“She lives with me,” she said. “She helps me take
care of Lucia.”

“Who’s Lucia?” I was ashamed the moment I asked.
The child, Evelina, the child that was torn
from your limbs, the child Vincent fought to save.

Muriel looked at me with sympathy, which only made
me more angry. “She’s doing well,” she said. “Your baby girl is thriving here.”

I waved the air and looked away. I didn’t want to
hear anything that sounded remotely like an expression of human emotion. I
didn’t need softness and sentimentality to distract me. There was no place for
nostalgia in my world.

“What’s this girl’s name?” I asked. “Vincent’s other
donor?”

“Gia,” she said. “Her name is Gia.”

The rap on the door let me know it was time for my
donor to go. Before sending her away, I had one last request. “Will you do something
for me?” I asked.

“Of course, Evelina,” she said. It was strange to
hear my name come from so small a voice. “Anything that’s within my power.”

I assured her it wasn’t a complicated task. “Can you
get me a razor?”

“Sure,” she said. “I’ll send Monica with it when I
return.”

I assumed it was an errand beneath her when she
mentioned another. “Monica?”

“She’s our steward,” she said. “She’d be the one to
get it.”