Chapter 26
XXVI
“Very well, are you prepared for your first challenge?” Lazarus asks eagerly. He’s sitting in his armchair, leaning his elbows on his knees and watching me with glowing eyes.
“Uhm, sure. Why not?”
“Somewhere within this castle, in a location unbeknownst to you, is a human. I want you to find him for me.”
“You mean Bayard?” I ask, confused.
Lazarus only smirks.
“He’s probably in his room, right? I don’t know what he does all day.” I shrug.
“No, almenara, not like that.” His smirk grows wider. Lazarus stands up and glides his fingers through my hair. “Not with this,” he says, stroking my head, “but with this.” He trails his hand over my chest.
“Oh!” I think I understand.
He lifts his hand and opens the door to the corridor with his power.
I have to admit, I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve been a vampire for, what, five whole days? But I spent most of the time sleeping and the rest of it in bed with Lazarus, of course.
I mean, sure, being a vampire is new and interesting, but so far, it’s not been that different from my life before I died.
And I admit, Lazarus is taking all of my attention.
But besides the amusement—and embarrassment—of being able to project my thoughts to Lazarus’ mind, I haven’t really thought of what else being a vampire might entail.
Would I be able to move things without touching them, too, or was that something only he could do?
I stand up, drawing Lazarus’ ridiculously oversized banyan across my chest, and step into the corridor.
The last few days have been a bit of a blur, and I completely lost track of time in the process. I didn’t even know if it was day or night, but the light leaking from beneath the doors across from me signals it must be daytime now.
Then I realise the gas torches are off, but even with the little bit of sunlight that creeps along the floor, it’s bright enough for me to see the hallway clearly.
But the world no longer looks the way it did before. Even in near darkness I can see things distinctly, almost as if the outlines are drawn with beige coloured highlighter. The glow makes the objects stand out from each other between the monotone shades of the wood.
But something else feels very different. The insistent feeling of someone watching me. The breathing of the walls. The floor’s flesh-like warmth.
It’s all gone.
And suddenly I’m sure. This castle is nothing but ancient rocks now.
Then I remember the purpose of this test, and I take a moment to push out my senses.
I close my eyes, trying to focus on other things beyond sight. I feel cold only dressed in this wrapping robe. The draft pulls at my legs, and my body shivers this far away from any hearth.
But then I hear something. The once completely silent castle starts to reveal its secrets.
At first, there’s only the breathing of the wind between the cracks in the walls, the chirping of birds as loud as if I was standing at an open window.
Then I hear whispers.
Whispers coming from inside the walls.
There’s so many, I can’t make out a single word.
But one stands out, much louder than the others.
I turn in its direction. In the far corner before me is a small rodent cleaning its face with tiny human-like fingers.
When it notices me, it freezes for an instant, then runs back into the wall, leaving a strange reddish glow behind it, like a ghost of a rat lingering there for a moment before vanishing into oblivion.
It smells strangely appetising, but the impression disappears as quickly as the animal.
I start to walk down the corridor as quietly as I can, listening intently. I try to push out my senses. I want to see it all. Feel it all.
Then, there’s something new. At first it’s very faint. So faint, I can barely register it. But soon, a strange smell, akin to boiled onions. Clothes left too long in an attic. I follow it, descending to the lowest floor of the castle.
Then another scent appears, soft and fresh, reminiscent of the floral shower gel my mum used when I was little. I follow it until I hear the sounds of metal on metal. The hissing of fire on a cooker. But this is not who I was tasked to find. I focus again on the stench. It draws me lower and lower.
The scent gets stronger. Rotten Brussels sprouts. Unwashed groin.
Then, jagged breathing, like a dog with a broken nose. The combination between the smell and the sound makes me want to gag. But then, a new sensation appears. Something stirs within me.
A beating heart. Fast and dissonant. When I reach the cellar, Bayard is standing, no, crouching, at the closed entrance to Lazarus’ maker’s tomb.
His body is pressed against the wall, trousers pooling around his ankles.
He’s rubbing his body along the stone, babbling nearly unintelligible word, his flaccid skin shaking in desperation.
“Master, please master, I need…“ he moans.
Eugh, this is just—I want to look away, but he turns and glares at me from across the cellar.
Then, red rivers flow along his neck, thick and bright. They pool on the collar bone and disappear beneath his starched collar.
“Wh-what the d-devil are you….” he stutters, pulling his pants back up.
I close my eyes. I don’t want to see this, but—
“Mr. Bloom, you have shirked your duties long enough. You will finish every task at once and then…” Bayard’s so angry, he can barely press out his own words. “Then I’ll fire you without pay.” His face reddens with every word.
Blood leaks beneath his skin.
“What were you doing?” I ask calmly.
“How dare you speak to me like that?”
“Like what?” I cross my arms.
Rivers swelling into a flood.
I feel something new in my core, but I can’t quite place what it is.
“You are nothing but a bum,” he hisses.
Heat spreads through the cellar.
“And what exactly are you?” I lean against the wall.
The scent.
“I am an honourable man, an admirable man!” he exclaims, and I can’t help but laugh. “How dare you—” he starts, but I interrupt him.
“I know about the bodies,” I say, still calm. His face drops into an expression of utter shock.
“What b-bodies?” he stammers.
Food.
“Did you hire me to kill me, too? Once I did all your chores for you,” I ask, and his quick muttering only confirms my suspicion.
The scent of food.
“What did you do to Pepper?”
“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about?” He’s completely unconvincing. He lifts his arms in innocence. When they drop, a red glow lingers in the air. Just for a second.
I step toward him in four long strides. His body reeks of age and disuse. But his blood is calling to me. Incessantly. My mouth involuntarily waters, but I brush it off. Gross.
“What did you do to Pepper?” I repeat.
And when he doesn’t reply, I step closer. He lets out a confused squawk. His breath smells worse than rotten meat. I’m so disgusted but I try to ignore it.
“I really don’t want to repeat myself again, okay?” I say.
Bayard starts to splutter. Is he scared?
“I, uhm…I killed…“ he stammers, but fear seems to make his tongue too soft.
“Come on, Bayard. Spit it out,” I say, not wanting to spend any more time around him than I have to.
“I killed her family. I…” he explains.
“Did you?”
“I killed her parents and brought them here,” he adds.
His hands are scrambling along the wall.
The scratching of his nails on the stone hurts my ears.
Bayard’s every breath coats the air. It clings to my skin, crawls into my throat.
Drool and snot mix with his words. It’s unbearable.
His spit lands on my cheek, and before I know it, my hand is around his neck.
I push him against the wall. He squeaks, and his eyes bulge out of his face.
Surprised at my sudden strength, I loosen my fingers.
“Eat him,” a voice behind me says suddenly.
I turn and see Lazarus standing next to the stairs. Then I look at Bayard, his bloodshot eyes, wide and desperate. I just want this stench to stop, for his revolting spit to stop flying across the room.
But it would be so easy to just crush his throat and make it stop. I feel the strength coursing through me. Alive.
The channels across his withered skin sing. So vivid.
“I sense your hunger,” Lazarus says.
I feel my mouth watering. Yes. It is easy. Just eat and make the hunger stop.
I step closer, my fingers twitching. I could do both. Stop the stench and quench the need. The blood calls. It screams my name. But the stench doesn’t lessen. It clings. It only grows. And the smell of food makes my stomach turn.
“It’s too gross,” I say, letting go of his throat.
Bayard stares at me with watery eyes.
“What else?” I ask.
“And I killed her baby…” the odious man mutters, then looks away.
I see Pepper frightened and tense, her warm hand on my shoulder, caring. She didn’t even know me.
When Bayard sees the look on my face, he shrieks, “I killed it for fun.” He flings his arms around. All I see is the dancing of ghostly reds.
Bayard is slobbering all over himself now, wailing. I’m repulsed beyond thought, and all I want is for this to stop. The sounds to stop. The stench to stop.
There’s nothing else anymore. Sounds of spit. Ghostly red streaks. Rushing rivers. Decay. Rot. Nausea.
“Please, stop,” I press out.
But his blubbering only gets louder.
“Stop,” I grind out between my teeth.
“I killed it for fun, all right…” His voice is too shrill; it feels like it’s cutting through my skull. “I liked it. Is that what you want me to say? Yes. I liked it.” Bayard continues to shout, “I threatened her fo…”
A knife glides into his cheek, as smooth as butter between slabs of wrinkles.
I step back, startled. Pepper stands beside me, eyes wild, fist gripping the knife with pale knuckles.
She pulls the blade out, and Bayard shrieks in pain.
Blood drips down his cheek and gushes from his mouth.
Pepper reaches back, this time aiming for his chest. But with the blood on the floor and the sandals on her feet, she slips.