Chapter 10 Elijah
Elijah
She knows.
I don’t know if Molly is just otherworldly perceptive or if I’ve been glaringly obvious, but Molly knows something. And if she doesn’t, I’m sure she’s not far from sniffing it out.
My heart doesn’t beat, but if it did, it would have absolutely stopped upon hearing her ask about my dietary habits and skincare routine.
Reasonably, I understand the questions were innocuous enough, but what I eat is one of the least human things about me, followed closely by the preternatural smoothness of my skin.
I believed she would never notice. I foolishly thought no one would question my eating or drinking habits ever and we could all pretend indefinitely that I was just like the rest of them.
I hate to say that Gregory was right about anything at all, but perhaps he was right that my affinity and fascination with humanity would come back to bite me again and again. It hasn’t even been a month at Drummond, just a few short weeks, and already I have to move on to something else?
Because surely, if there’s a risk of Molly figuring me out, I cannot stay.
Right?
I’ve lasted longer here than I did at the bar (three shifts), the bookstore (one shift), or the train station (one week, but only because I didn’t care for it). I don’t want to quit Drummond–I’ve grown fond of the basement and the eclectic mix of personalities that make up the IT department.
But Molly is perceptive and, if I stay, she will find me out eventually. She’ll learn that not only am I not worth my weight when it comes to technology, I’m also technically dead. Or undead. And if she finds this out, I won’t be safe, but more importantly, she will not be safe.
The world of paranormals is a secretive one. The council has strict rules about telling humans what we are and how we live. There are exceptions made; many paranormals were once human themselves, and they had to find out somehow. Accidents happen.
But on the whole, fraternising too closely with humans, especially as a vampire, is a dangerous game.
Humans who learn about vampires tend to have a hard time going back to their oblivious world of mortals and no-magic.
They’re more likely get into trouble, whether from ill-meaning vampires or other supernatural beings, because they know where to look. What to look for.
If Gregory knew I’d been getting so chummy here, spending eight hours a day with a pack of humans and my evenings with a werewolf, he’d call for the council to wipe the memories of the whole lot.
It’s not illegal what I’m doing, but he’s always been dramatic.
He claims to have no regard for the living, but it may be the opposite that drives him to want us all to distance ourselves from them.
Maybe he wants to protect them as much as I want to get close to them.
If council members tried to wipe Molly’s memory of me, would they find like I had that she’s immune? She would be vulnerable.
I should leave.
As I walk towards the train that will take me back to Dylan’s apartment, mentally considering what other cities I could possibly escape to, I stop short when I come upon a human couple outside a corner shop, a woman on one knee in front of her partner, little ring box in front of her while they beam at each other, laughing, crying, then kissing.
A marriage proposal in the middle of the sidewalk, on a weeknight, like an honest to God romance film.
Their breaths fog in front of their lips, which are stretched wide with smiles–it is the coldest evening since I moved here.
Inside the window of the shop, a cat naps atop a pile of boxes.
I stand a respectable distance away while the women embrace, celebrating their love and commitment, and my throat feels tight suddenly.
This place, this city–any city, maybe–is so full of life.
The people are the heartbeat of a place like this; to be human is to have joy and horrible pain, but so much hope too.
Humans have the unbearable knowledge of mortality and decide to keep on like tomorrow will happen anyway, because what other choice is there?
I’ve lived almost entirely secluded from life for almost a hundred years, too afraid of what will happen, what pain will befall me, if I let myself get too close again.
And now I’m considering running.
My device buzzes in my pocket, a too-close photo of Dylan’s face appearing on the screen. I answer it, resuming my walk past the now-engaged couple.
‘Molly knows something,’ I tell him in lieu of a greeting.
Dylan is quiet for enough seconds that I fear he didn’t hear me, but then his voice comes through the line.
‘What?’
‘She can’t be far from finding me out, and it’s not like I can compel her into forgetting.’
‘Bro, calm down,’ Dylan says. There’s a horrible tumult of emotions roiling in my stomach though, anxiety and fear and dread–it’s worse than the unending loneliness of the last decades, harder to ignore. ‘Stop by Johnny’s for your blood bags and then come home. We’ll figure it out.’
I curse at the reminder that I need to stop at the vampire butcher’s establishment for more food, but do as I’m told, hanging up the phone before stewing silently for the remainder of my commute.
Johnny usually invites me to hang out with him and his other vampire friends, but I must be giving off a horrible energy today, because he slides me the Styrofoam cooler I know is full of blood bags and accepts my bills as payment without talking.
Dylan is waiting for me when I get back to the apartment, and before I can even put my stuff down, he tells me to start from the beginning.
I do, telling him about my initial uncertainty about even going to the happy hour when I knew I wouldn’t be imbibing, then about the conversation with Molly.
I leave out the part where I wanted nothing more than to kiss her, even in my dread believing she’d found me out, skipping it in favour of the fact that I ran out of there like there was a fire.
‘So at no point did she accuse you of actually being a vampire?’ Dylan asks, once I’ve finished my story.
‘No, but she’s sharp. Even if she doesn’t know yet, she’ll figure it out. I’m sure of it.’
‘Why are you freaking out? Molly is never going to guess that you’re a vampire because, for all she knows, vampires do not exist.’
‘If she finds out—’
‘What? What happens really if she finds out? Talk me through the worst-case scenario.’
I stutter, forcing myself to imagine it, really imagine it.
She could try to tell everyone, but where I cannot compel her, I can compel the rest of the humans.
They would think her absurd, and if not, I could make them forget she said anything to begin with.
Molly is stubborn, though, and she’d probably find a way to tell every department–she has access to the company-wide email system, after all.
If I really had to leave New York, my family is always waiting and ready to accept me into their smug good graces again.
If not, I could start the job search again, but I’m so damn tired of trying new things only to be shit at them and realise that even though I’ve been alive for hundreds of years, I might be good at nothing.
I don’t want to keep compelling my way into positions I don’t deserve; I don’t want to run back to live with my family.
I want to make this work and prove to myself that, for once, I am not useless.
And would Molly even survive learning a secret like mine? It occurs to me that the fear I have in her discovering my identity is not only for myself but for her as well. The last time a human woman discovered my secret, she met a horrible fate as a result. It was my fault.
The thought of Molly’s life being cut short on account of me makes me feel ill. I think of her thirtieth birthday approaching, her face tipped back in the rain on the roof, that golden hair with curls escaping her every attempt to tame it.
I drop onto the leather couch next to Dylan with a heavy exhale.
‘She won’t be safe if she knows,’ I say finally.
Dylan’s eyes go wide and he whistles a long sound. ‘I fucking knew you liked her.’
I don’t deny it, instead letting my head thud against the wall behind me.
‘Impossible not to,’ I repeat. What’s not to like about Molly Mason?
‘So, what’s the move, then?’ Dylan asks after a few minutes of quiet contemplation. ‘We calling your sister yet?’
‘No, not yet. I think I just have to… keep my distance.’
Easier said than done when I still rely on her daily to help me with my job. Plus, if I am honest with myself, I don’t want to stay away from her–Molly is a glowing presence, like our very own sun in the basement office. Even when she’s grumpy I want to be near her.
It’s for the best if I keep my distance; these feelings are dangerous ones and I know where they lead. To things like passion and love and longing for infinite companionship.
It can’t be. Can never be.
Dylan is my best friend, and I will forever be grateful for his insistence on befriending me a decade ago.
He barrelled through all my best efforts to guard my heart from any mortal again, and I value his determination and companionship more than I can say.
But I still ache knowing Dylan will die one day and I will live on, and on, and on–alone, never rotting, but withering inside just the same.
Molly will die, too–lovely, lovely Molly. I feel myself slipping into my familiar longings, fruitlessly wishing to be human, wishing to be human with her.
Dylan says nothing, but pats my knee before retreating into the kitchen to warm up some dinner for himself and microwave a blood bag for me.
When he settles back on the couch next to me, he hands me a mug that reads Homosexual Agenda and I sip warm blood out of it while he turns on another movie. All the while, I think of red cheeks, plump pink lips and a crooked front tooth on the nicest smile I’ve ever seen.
From: Jeannine Mason
To: Molly June Mason
Date: 21 October 2026, 11.14 a.m.
Subject: FWD: Spooky Good Savings!
Hi dear,
Your favourite bras are on sale, do you want one for your birthday? Speaking of which, what are you doing for the big day? Cake, I hope! Thirty was my favourite year because it was the year I had you.
Love you, nugget!
Mom
P.S. Did you decide if you’re coming for Thanksgiving next month? Plz call me and let me know.