Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Alexandru
Ms. Renfield and Gregor busy themselves over the next couple of days, making constant trips to the town below and returning with boxes upon boxes, as well as bags of foodstuffs from the bakery and the local cheesemonger.
Contrary to modern myth, I do not sleep during the day, and sunlight won’t kill me, though it does burn my skin quite painfully if I do not cover up. A suit, gloves, and a wide-brimmed hat typically do the job, though I prefer to pass the daylight hours indoors reading or contemplating.
This is not easy under the siege of Ms. Renfield’s modernization campaign.
She comes to me occasionally to get my opinion on changes to my holdings.
“If I make recommendations—properties to sell, systems to consolidate—do I have your blessing?”
“If it results in increased wealth and power, then yes, you have my blessing. Tread carefully. I’ll know if you make mistakes.”
She tilts her head. “Do you… have some kind of mystical connection to your assets? Like, how will you know if I screw up something? Not that I plan to. Just curious.”
“I have a network of bankers and solicitors across the world, all eager to curry my favor. They’ll point out your blunders.”
“And then it’s to the dungeon with me? For a heaping helping of screams and some rice counting?”
“You won’t joke about it once you’ve spent time down there.”
“I don’t plan on ending up down there.”
“No Renfield plans to end up down there,” I reply, needling her.
She snorts, and an unexpected lightness ripples through my chest.
“So what are your powers, exactly?” she asks. “You can’t read minds, I’m guessing.”
I study the way the line of her cheekbone disappears beneath the frame of her glasses. “Is there something I should know?”
She smiles to cover a sudden jump of fear. “No.”
So she’s planning something. They always are. “What are you not telling me?”
“So you can tell when someone’s hiding something, but not what it is?”
“I can smell fear. Deception. Lust. Jealousy. Joy. Rage. I know when someone lies. I know when someone’s withholding, as you are right now.”
“So, emotion but not content. You get the vibe. Could be anything. Maybe I forgot a scone in the kitchen and rats got it.”
I shrug. The less she knows, the better.
“Do you sleep during the day?”
“These questions are tedious.”
“As your manager of affairs, I need to know how to work with you.”
“I am nocturnal. I do doze during daylight hours, but it’s not a necessity, and no coffins are involved. What is noon to you is the middle of the night to me. Let’s say it’s not my preferred working time.”
“You feel a little crabbins?”
I do not answer. I neither know nor care what crabbins means.
“What’s up with Gregor?”
I turn a page. “You’d do well not to ask about Gregor.”
“Are there others of your kind?” she asks.
Others of my kind.
I grip my book tightly. “That is not for you to bother yourself with.”
“And you drink blood from people. That’s your sustenance.”
“Yes, people are my food. I have superior strength. I have superior eyesight. I was human once, a soldier. The sun will not kill me. Holy water will not kill me. I have no use for a coffin. Garlic will not ward me off.”
“And can you turn into a bat?”
I simply gaze upon her, letting her feel the heat of my annoyance. “Truly? This is what you ask.”
“I guess not.”
I can feel something under the surface. A question she wants to ask. Maybe she wants to know what will kill me. I can feel her thinking about it... thinking about it... and letting it go.
She crosses her arms. “Okay, so, when you drink from someone… does it always kill them? Or can you stop and let them live?”
“Why would I have half a meal?”
“So... can you stop or not?”
“Why would I?”
“To spare a life?”
I laugh—low, sharp. “I am a hunter, Ms. Renfield. Humans are my prey. Can you imagine a lion taking dainty bites and walking away? A wolf unhooking its teeth because the deer begged?”
“Well, no—”
I step closer. The heat of her pulse blooms in the air between us. “Does the crocodile, having gone through the bother of dragging a child into the water, pause mid-bite to ask the child’s preference?”
Her face tightens. “But you’re killing humans. It’s different.”
“Not to me.”
“You yourself were a human once, right? So it’s a little bit different. Why not spare them if you could?”
“Again, why would I have half a meal?”
She stares at me, disbelieving.
“It is called the circle of life, Ms. Renfield.”