Chapter 39
I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to do this . . . That’s what I’m thinking as Oscar gets up to answer the door.
‘Just relax, Baby-V,’ Rupert says, and Carmilla goes back to scrolling on her phone.
But how can I relax?
I hear chatter in the distance, laughing, footsteps, and then Oscar is back, and he’s brought company. It’s the same woman he was talking to, dancing with, last night, the one in the yellow dress.
Except now she’s in jeans and a black top, and there’s a dazed look in her eyes, like she’s vacant, not there.
He’s hypnotised her.
‘Inside,’ Oscar says in a honeyed tone, and she moves between the sofas.
Rupert and Carmilla both clap their hands as she stands there on the rug, waiting like a robot.
‘Sit there on the sofa,’ he tells her soothingly, like she’s in a dark slumber he wants to draw her deeper into, then points at the space beside me.
She does exactly as he says, she sits down right next to me and I instinctively shift a little away.
And then Oscar says, ‘Aubrey, a promise is a promise.’
I swallow hard; he’s not going to let me get out of this.
I look at him. ‘Not with everyone here,’ I say.
‘Leave us alone,’ Oscar tells the other two, his eyes still on me.
They silently get up. Carmilla winks at me and says, ‘Have fun,’ in a sing-song voice as they leave.
Now it’s just me, Oscar and poor Emma sitting in here.
All I can hear is the crackling fire and Emma’s heart. At least she’s not scared; her heartbeat is regular and there’s a small, docile smile on her lips. She wouldn’t be smiling if she knew what was coming.
‘Emma,’ Oscar says in his velvet voice. ‘Aubrey’s going to feed off you. Are you okay with that?’
She looks into his eyes and nods. But it’s not like she has a choice. She’s in some kind of trance. Panic rolls through me. I can’t do this.
I need to buy myself time, so I ask a question. ‘Your voice, when you talk to her, you use that specific voice. Like you’re trying to keep her entranced. Does that matter?’
He smiles, like he’s mildly impressed. ‘Yes, your voice is the most important part. Our eyes hold their attention, but our voices hypnotise. Now feed.’
I stare at Emma.
‘I can’t,’ I whisper, looking back at him. ‘I’m sorry’.
‘Of course you can,’ he says, frowning at me. Then he turns to Emma and in that same voice says, ‘Now, lean your head over to the side.’
‘I really can’t,’ I repeat. A flash of how every time I feed once, that’s it, game over, the seal is broken and I can’t stop. ‘Please don’t make me, I’m still shaken after . . .’ I lower my voice to a whisper, ‘last night.’
He throws me a twisted look that clearly says, Do not talk about that. Ever. Then, so quietly he’s almost mouthing it, he says, ‘Aubrey, think. What would have happened if I hadn’t been there? Last night is a perfect example of why you have to do this.’
My insides clench, because . . . he’s right.
If he hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have been able to fight Felix off.
Now comes a flash of Riley’s hand on my wrist, his eyes scanning my mouth that night we met.
If he, or anyone else from the VHC, ever gets hold of me again, it would be nice to be able to get myself out of the situation.
But also . . . in comes a flash of those first nights with Hans. My face in the mirror, the face of a monster. The terror in that child’s eyes.
I shake my head. ‘You can teach me the other things. Like I’d love to learn to hypnotise properly, I’d love to be able to control the visions I get sometimes.
’ And I would. Then I could maybe get some more intel from Jonathan, if he ever wants to see me again.
‘I’m totally cool with learning to be faster and stronger.
And I’m happy to drink blood, I just need it to be from the bag,’ I say, my voice small.
He shakes his head slowly. ‘Blood loses its essence, its life force, once it’s out of the vein.
That’s why you’re so weak. Feeding from the vein is the only way for you to be properly nourished, and until you feed properly I can’t teach you anything else.
You won’t have the life force to do it. This is the first step, Aubrey.
I, for one, don’t want this to take any longer than it has to. So just drink.’
As his words swirl around me, I know he’s telling the truth. While bagged blood has kept me functional, it never made me feel alive the way feeding from the vein did.
But this is the exact kind of information I needed him to tell me a long time ago.
These are the exact lessons he should have already given me.
If he’d just done his job properly, maybe I wouldn’t have done any of the bad things I’ve done.
I would never have met Hans. Maybe I wouldn’t have so much baggage.
Maybe I would have learnt to control myself when I feed.
But the damage is done, I am 150 years old now, my issues are my issues, I am how I am.
I shake my head. Hard. ‘I can’t. You don’t understand, when I start, I can’t stop. I have no self-control.’
‘That’s why you’re practising,’ he says, clearly irritated. ‘Just lean forward, smell her skin, her blood, hear where the vein is.’
I just sit there. Staring at her.
‘Aubrey,’ he snaps, ‘stop being so fucking vexing. You made a deal, now feed. Or I’ll go back on my part too.’
There is no give in his voice. He’s not going to back down.
I think of Daphne. Of that knife that killed Kenny probably somewhere in her flat. Then I think of Felix and how helpless I felt last night. Then of Riley and how badly that might all go.
I look at Emma’s neck.
I can see her pulse, tapping just beneath the skin of her jugular. I can smell her sweet, sweet, blood—AB negative, which is delicious—and my choices are either run out of here and have Oscar pull me back, force me to do this, or to do the thing I said I’d never do again.
I lean in and her pulse gets louder, and I hate myself for it but my gums tingle, my saliva starts to flow, and I feel my fangs pop out.
I’ll just have a little taste.
Oscar’s hand pushes gently on the back of my head.
I open my jaw, and I bite. As soon as her blood hits my tongue I’m hit by a RUSH through my veins.
She tastes like night and glitter all mixed up—euphoria and sex and hope—and holy fuck, I forgot.
Life force sparks in my veins, swirls in my solar plexus and her heartbeat sounds like a drum, beating out the rhythm to my favourite song.
My breath gets quick, I hold on a little harder, bite a little deeper.
My vision snaps to high definition and my skin is warm and Oscar is saying something but it’s hazy, his voice sounds like music, like an oboe, and there’s a hunger inside me that’s so much bigger than I can control .
. . now she tastes sweet, like iron, hot chocolate, and—
‘That’s enough,’ Oscar says, prying me away from her. I’m not done! I sit still, my lungs heaving as I look at her neck, and I can still taste her blood on my lips.
I’m still hungry. I want more.
I grab onto her arm, go to bite again. Oscar holds me back, but my hand is still on her arm and my stomach clenches as a silent black and white movie fills my mind. It’s of a small pale dog swimming across a kidney-shaped pool.
He pulls me away a little harder and as I let go, the images cut to black.
‘Stay,’ Oscar says to me as he comes back into focus.
I watch as he calmly bites into his own wrist and puts a few drops of blood on Emma’s wound.
‘What are the visions for?’ I ask, as her wound starts to heal before my eyes. ‘When I touch people,’ I continue, ‘why do I see things?’
‘The visions give us common ground to talk about and create trust. They help us bond with our prey,’ he says, monotone.
But I feel fantastic now, colours are brighter, the world more exciting. And I’m full of thoughts and questions and good will. I haven’t been this high in forever. ‘Why does your blood heal her but mine doesn’t heal anyone?’
‘I told you, until you’re well fed, you’re essentially useless. This will help, but it’s just a start. You need to be consistent. You need to feed every night to have power, Aubrey. Think of yourself like a battery you have to charge.’
‘When will I be fast?’ I ask.
‘Not for a long while,’ he says. ‘That comes last.’
He reaches over to a side table and pulls a wet-wipe from a box. Then he turns back to Emma and I watch as he gently cleans his blood off the spot where her wound was. It’s completely gone now, no trace of what just happened. She’s fine.
‘There,’ he says. ‘Good as new.’
And I’m still hungry, I still want more, but he’s like a safety catch on a gun—he’ll stop me.
I reach for his arm now, because this wasn’t so bad. And he saved me last night; I misjudged him. In this moment, I forgive it all, I love the world and I love him too and we can all get on.
He turns to look at me, frowning.
‘Thanks for last night,’ I gush, my voice a whisper.
‘No problem,’ he says, his voice icy. ‘It’s my job.’ But then something shifts behind his gaze, something I can’t decipher. Then he grins and he says, ‘Lesson over. But screw it, my turn.’
And before I know what’s happening, he turns back to Emma and his teeth sink into her neck.
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t fight. She’s stunned.
I’m torn between the smell of her blood, the feeling of it running through my veins, the vaguely chocolatey taste of it on my lips, the wooziness I still feel, and this instinctual need to help her.
But then her eyes are rolling back in her head and he’s hurting her! He’s going to kill her!
My ears ring, my vision blanches white, a heat—a fiery rage—rushes to my head.
A dizziness I haven’t felt in a long time comes over me, a fury courses through my veins.
I lurch forward, swiping at Oscar. He grabs me by the throat and holds me there as he feeds and feeds and feeds.
I don’t stand a chance against his strength.
All I can do is hold my breath and watch as Emma’s eyes close, then she slumps like a deflated balloon, her hair in front of her eyes. Blood seeping from her neck. And that does it.
It’s as though I’ve been doused in ice water. The hunger is gone. Stopped dead by self-loathing.
This is why I can’t feed from the vein.
Oscar’s hand is still tight around my throat, but then comes a knock on the door. He looks towards it as Carmilla’s voice rings out. ‘Oscar,’ she whines coyly. ‘Pleeeease, can we use my presents?’
‘Just a moment,’ Oscar calls out, nonchalant. Then he lets go of Emma, and she falls to his lap. He turns to me, my neck still in his grasp.
‘Don’t do anything stupid, I’m not in the mood,’ he whispers to me, and then he lets me go.
I reach for my throat to soothe it.
‘Oscar?’ comes Carmilla’s whine again.
‘I said just a moment,’ Oscar yells back, his eyes still on mine. Then he gently puts Emma on the floor—no thud, no sound at all—and pushes her under the sofa. Far under the sofa. He throws me one more threatening look. And then he calmly calls out, ‘You can come in.’
The door flings open and Carmilla strides inside, two women and one man trailing behind her. I recognise the women, they’re the ones who were wearing flapper dresses last night, the ones who were asking me about Oscar . . . But now they’re just in their bras and knickers.
‘Aubrey, which one would you like?’ Carmilla asks, a challenge in her eyes, like she wants to make me uncomfortable. Feel out of my depth. But Oscar beat her to it.
‘I’m okay,’ I say, a little numb, my breath quick. ‘I just ate.’
‘We’re not going to eat, silly,’ she says, unzipping the man’s pants. ‘We’re going to do other things.’
I look over to Oscar—the two women are sitting on either side of him.
One of them is pulling out a small mirror and cutting a line of cocaine on it on her lap.
She thinks this is a party. She has no idea what’s beneath the sofa she’s sitting on, but these people don’t have that trance-like look in their eyes.
They’re all very much awake and willing.
I feel sick. Is this what this week is going to be like?
Oscar’s eyes are narrowed as he watches me, watching them. He reaches out and undoes two bras at once like it’s a party trick, then grins at me, and my throat tightens. ‘Aubrey, don’t be so pedestrian and judgy. A little depravity is good for the spirits.’
A panic rises within me, as I think of Emma lying there while all this goes on.
I look away from him and back towards Carmilla.
‘Where’s Rupert?’ I ask.
Carmilla rolls her eyes. ‘Reading, being boring . . .’
I see my out. ‘I’m going to go and read too. Have fun.’