33. The Change
The Change
Imade my decision.
Some time between leaving Zora last night and waking this evening, I’d come to my own conclusion.
Zora had lied and withheld things from me.
She was my sworn, natural enemy. She carried a book with secrets on how to slay my kind, though most of them were inaccurate.
There was very little the hunters got right, perhaps that was why it took this many centuries before I stumbled upon one.
But she’d been a friend, a confidant, someone I thought I could share part of my eternity with. A companion, someone who understood. Not like you. Nothing like you.
Different.
But I could not trust her, not until she’d been remade. So I would meet her in the underground passage, and I would drain her nearly to death.
Then I would tell her everything while she was too weak to kill me. I’d tell her the truth of being a vampyr, about what her book and her family had wrong. If she still wanted to become like us, then I could turn her. If she showed any deception, if she showed any hesitation, I would…
I could not even think the word.
But it would be necessary, because it would be the only way to keep you safe. Her only options were eternal life or the darkness of death.
She would need to atone, of course. Her deceptions would be punished, but I trusted in time our friendship would return to what it had been. Once I knew I could trust her, once I knew you were safe.
I rise from my grave, swaying a bit at the heady rush. The promise of the evening awoke something in me I haven’t felt in a long time. My blood buzzes in my veins. I can’t recall the last time I felt this energized.
Perhaps this was exactly what I needed.
I linger before leaving the house. Should I tell you? Should I bring you along to witness? It would be the first of our kind I’d made, it feels like a momentous occasion. I go to your room only to find it empty.
I search our home, peering into every corner, to find no trace of you. Your scent lingers in all the rooms, you’d been here just this evening.
It is a sign, I think. Proof that I am ready to be separate from you, that I can start to untangle myself from your eternity. This would, at last, be a way to forge my own path. Not one following you, but one next to you, with Zora beside me.
I consider leaving you a note, but what would I say? I could not put the multitude of this decision into a few sentences. This would be something we spoke about in person, something we would discuss at length, perhaps while Zora slept.
I take my time heading to the tunnel. There are things I needed to prepare—a way to collect the dirt of Paris, a few humans for Zora to feed on once she wakes.
She could use my grave those first few nights, until we found a space for her.
Perhaps she would want to stay in Paris, perhaps she would want to leave once she awoke.
I did not know what her memories of this town were, or if she feared her family learning what she’d become.
I find two large male humans, full to the brim of blood, and compel them to follow me into the tunnel. They stand as silent guards at the entrance to the tunnels, to be summoned when Zora was ready to feed. Until then they’d keep us safe and free from prying eyes or thieves.
The tunnel stretched into silence, interrupted only by the humans’ breath. I strain for another heartbeat, for proof that Zora is here. I am greeted with nothing.
Would she not arrive?
I was so foolish. If she were lying, she wouldn’t meet me here again!
She’d flee Paris, presumably back to her family to tell them where the vampyrs of Paris were.
How could I be so stupid, so naive? I would hunt her down, I would kill her and her entire family.
I could follow her as she led me right to them and free the world of the problem of the hunter.
I’d burn their village, destroy any evidence they existed.
I could find the names on the inside of her book, see if there were other names to follow.
My anger at Zora returns. I thrust my fist into the wall to disperse some of it. The limestone cracks and shudders, powder reigning from the ceiling. I frown at the wall—was it really that weak? Is this what supports the city of Paris?
Perhaps Paris will not fall metaphorically, as the empires before it, but physically, sinking into these hidden tunnels until there is nothing left but rubble.
I set to pacing, to think through my plan. I pace the length of the tunnel, considering what I am to do, when something catches my eye. There is something in the dead end of the tunnel, the one I’d cornered Zora in the previous evening.
Has she left a note? A message? Did she intend to meet me after all, but needed to get her human affairs in order first?
I strain my ears in the quiet tunnels once more, listening for any other life. Some things scurry in the walls. The two large human men remain immobile at the entrance, their steady breathing the only other sound.
Satisfied, I creep to the room.
A body lies face down in the middle of the room. It is small, wearing the worn clothing of a street urchin. I blink at it, following the dark brown hair that haloes around the body. I need to turn it over to see the face, but I know.
I know what I am looking at, even as my mind can not comprehend it.
“No,” I whisper.
“No,” I repeat, dropping to my knees next to the body. My hands shake as they reach for her, pushing her onto her back.
Zora’s dead, empty eyes staring up at the ceiling.
Her skin is pale, her lips blue and cracked with dried blood. She is stiff and cold.
So cold.
I shake her once. Twice. I press my ear to her chest, waiting for the sound of her breath, of her heart.
Nothing.
“Zora,” I say, my voice a strained whisper. I try again, louder this time so that she might hear me. “Zora.”
She doesn’t blink or breathe or flinch. Of course not, she is dead. I push the word away, because it can’t be true.
“Zora! Zora!” I yell, shaking her. Her stiff body barely moved, her muscles keeping her rigid.
She’s been dead for hours, since well before the sun went down.
Had she come down here to wait for me during daylight, only to be ambushed by robbers?
Had I caused her death by putting her in danger, meeting some place like this?
I gather her head into my lap. Her neck does not move to allow it, so I bend it myself, sobbing as the bones in her neck crack and her tissue becomes pliable. I sob and shake and rock her, my fingers pressing into her shoulders, her chest, her face.
She does not move, she does not stir.
“Wait, I’ve an idea,” I tell her. I bite into the flesh of my wrist, bringing it to her mouth.
Her jaw is clamped shut, not allowing her lips to part to take my blood.
I squeeze her jaw until it pops, until the flesh and the bones break enough for me to pry her mouth open.
She will heal. It will hurt, but she would heal.
I trickle my blood into her mouth, slowly at first, then quicker.
I slash the vessel in my wrist with my teeth, trying to open it more to give her more blood.
After a few drops of blood my wrist heals, and I curse and do it again and again and again.
Any droplet I can force between her lips I did, tilting her head to let it drop down her throat.
I rub her throat, I press my fingers into it to try to move my blood into her.
“Wake up, Zora,” I say, rubbing her throat.
My fingers graze something at her neck.
Two puncture wounds. Bite marks, right over the major vessel along the side of her neck.
Caterina. That fucking bitch. How dare she? It was one thing to corner me, to warn me about Zora. It was another thing to kill her. It wasn’t her right! Zora was my friend. She’d betrayed me, not her. Who did she think she was to intervene like this, to take Zora’s life?
Did she do it last night? Zora was so stiff, so cold.
She must have found her after she left the tunnels and chased her back down here.
Or perhaps Zora led her down here, thinking it was me?
No—it was impossible to trick Zora. She was immune to compulsion, and I did not think Caterina even knew how to do it.
I would find Caterina and I would kill her.
After I rouse Zora. She just needs to swallow some of my blood. She’d been drained, she’d died, and now it was time to come back to life.
I did not know if it mattered more who drained her or who fed her. Would she be Caterina’s creation, with her yellow eyes? Or mine, red-eyed with the gift of compulsion?
I would find out when she rose.
I continue like this, dropping bits of my blood into her mouth, speaking to her all the while. I remember you speaking to me as you fed me, reassuring me as my heart slowed to a stop.
“It won’t be much longer now,” I tell her.
“There is much of the world we will see once you wake.
Have I told you of my homeland? Of Greece?
I have not returned since I was made, perhaps it is time.
I wonder if my temple still stands, where I was once a mouse amongst the statues.
I will tell you all about that, though, when you wake.
“And then there is Rome. It was once the largest empire, a fantastical land ruled by emperors that came and went like the seasons.
They conquered and destroyed, but also built and learned.
They once held Alexandria—yes, that Alexandria, with the famed library.
I saw it, not at its peak, but very near so. I will tell you more when you wake.
“And I will show you my creator. She does not know I am here, she does not know I intend to create you. She is very old, one of the original of my kind. Our kind, Zora. Once you wake, you will be one of us. She is my greatest love, though we are at odds as of now. Perhaps this will fix it. We will find out, when you wake.”
Through it her eyes remain glassy and unseeing, staring at the limestone ceiling above us, at the cross still embedded in the wall.
If I had only listened to her the night before, things would have been different.
I could have made her, and then there was nothing Caterina could have done.
Zora would have been my creation and no longer a threat to her or the others of Le Sang Bleu.
But now…
No. No. It is too soon. The change takes time, doesn’t it? I don’t recall how long it was from when I died to when I rose, but it was endless. Days, perhaps?
I will wait, then.
I summon one of the human men to us and slit his throat, emptying him into her mouth.
The blood bubbles back up, overflowing and painting her chin and my arms. It turns the silver chain of my bracelet red, just like the stones.
I hold her jaw shut and rub her throat, careful to avoid the bite at her neck.
Still, she does not wake.
The sun rose and set once more, but its pull was a minor scrape against my skin. A mosquito buzzing about my head, nothing more. I swat away the rise and fall of the sun and focused only on Zora waking.
Bury her. I needed to bury her.
Of course, how could I be so stupid? You said so when I was created, that the dirt of my grave would give me strength.
Perhaps it would resurrect Zora? Beneath me was only limestone and packed dirt.
I wrenched the cross from the wall and used it to dig into the ground.
It breaks apart after a few swipes, the silver not strong enough to withstand my frantic digging.
I abandon it for my hands. My nails break and regrow, break and regrow, my blood painting the limestone.
It takes hours, but at last I have a hole for her. I have to break her bones to fit her into it, but she would heal when she awoke. It will be painful, but it would be fine.
The sun rose and set, rose and set. Exhaustion tugs at me, but I will not give in. I need to keep vigil.
I ate the other human man to keep me awake.
She did not rise.
She did not stir.
I push her hair off her face, only for the skin to come with it, exposing the white of her skull.
Zora was dead, she wasn’t coming back.
I have nothing left to give. My voice is hoarse, my lips chapped, my eyes burning. I could not sob my tearless cries anymore. I could scream my voice raw then let it heal then scream again. I did all of this and more, and more, and more—until I collapse onto the ground.
I killed her by not believing her. I killed her by not protecting her from Caterina, from not acting sooner. My indecision, my uselessness, my…
No.
This was not my fault. This was Caterina’s. I stand, swaying on my feet. It’s been days since I slept. I didn’t need sleep to kill Caterina, I just need to do something first.
I need to find you, so we can do this together. Zora would have been in our family, she would have been one of us. You will join me in outrage, won’t you?
You have to. You have to do this for me.
I cover Zora’s body with limestone, protecting her from the creatures that crawl through the tunnels. I take a piece of the broken cross and etch her name into it with my fingernail and place it atop her grave.
“Don’t worry,” I whisper to her. “I will avenge you.”
I walk back to the house.