Chapter 16 Molly
Molly
It’s overcast again, and cold on the Drummond rooftop, but Elijah looks unaffected.
I don’t look at his face because, when I do, I again remember his lips on mine, on my jaw, on my neck.
I cough and rub the pad of my thumb over the space between my eyebrows. I’ve had a tension headache all day.
‘Go ahead,’ I tell him.
‘Molly…’ He seals his lips in a tight line, a muscle in his jaw jumping.
My heart is racing, though, thumping loud in my ears because I don’t want to say it. Not because I don’t pretty much believe the unbelievable, but because I’m afraid to be wrong. I don’t want him to laugh at me.
My brother roasted me relentlessly growing up for being too much of a dreamer–I wanted so badly for magic to be real.
I wanted the creatures in my favourite books and TV shows to exist. I sought it out and believed as well as I could, because isn’t it fun to believe in something?
To believe that magic is real and around us all the time, hidden in plain sight?
To want to find beauty in the world like that?
And certainly, Elijah’s not a vampire, he’s probably just freaking weird.
But what if I’m right? What if he is?
‘It’s not what you’re thinking,’ he says.
‘You’re not a vampire?’
His shoulders deflate, something like resigned acceptance on his face. ‘Okay, it is what you’re thinking.’
The confirmation sparks both shock and relief in me. Holy shit, I was right.
‘How?’
‘My mother was turned. Turned me and my siblings shortly thereafter,’ he says simply.
I have about seventy-five follow-up questions solely on the topic of him being turned, but I settle on the next most pressing question:
‘How long?’
Elijah almost-smiles, sheepish. I think he’s embarrassed by his answer, reluctant to tell me.
‘If my maths is right, I’m four hundred and nine years old.’
I blink, speechless for a moment.
‘You’re fucking with me.’
Elijah laughs, a surprised sound that makes me smile despite my incredulity.
He licks his lips before opening his mouth, tilting his head back as he bares his teeth to me.
For the most part, they look normal, blunt and white, an exceptionally nice smile.
I might even guess he’s had braces. They look human.
But then, his sharp canines descend, and the two incisors from the bottom grow, making for four sharp teeth jutting towards each other.
I blink and step closer, fascinated as much as my heart picks up speed at the sight.
It’s like my body knows he’s inhuman, a predator, with four sharp teeth that are made to destroy me–yet my interest is unending.
Curiosity wins over fear, and I stand close enough to see that the teeth look unbelievably sharp. And it’s not just those two–the molars behind his canines above and below are sharp too, making for eight sharp points to tear into flesh.
‘Incredible,’ I mutter, and Elijah closes his mouth, his lips looking crowded as they stretch around the teeth.
‘A moment, if you will,’ he says, stepping away from me and turning to face the edge of the building.
I wait, my brain supplying question after question, even as the surreal truth sinks in. My hot, inept coworker is a literal vampire.
But four hundred years old?
I suppose that could explain why he’s bad with technology, but really, if he was around for all of technology’s advent, then shouldn’t he be ultra adept? Or at least have a passable proficiency? You would think in four centuries, one might learn to pick things up quickly.
And if he is a vampire, a real and true vampire, then he must use those sharp teeth for—
‘I can hear your heart beating,’ Elijah says over his shoulder. ‘You’re afraid.’
I step forward tentatively until I reach Elijah’s side. I put my hands on the cold stone railing and look out at the city below.
‘I’ve never met a vampire before,’ I say by way of explanation.
‘None that you know of.’ His teeth look normal again, not protruding dangerously from his gums.
‘That’s true.’
High school me would be ecstatic to learn that vampires, the entirety of my adolescent daydreams and fictional infatuations, are indeed real. How many other vampires are there in the world? Hundreds? Thousands? Tens of thousands?
Too many and they’d have a food shortage.
‘I am a little afraid,’ I admit. ‘Do you kill people?’
‘No,’ he says, squinting into the distance.
‘Have you?’
‘Have you, Molly?’ he asks. I raise an eyebrow and he clicks his tongue in acquiescence. It takes another quiet moment, but I watch his Adam’s apple dip, and then he nods. ‘Not for a long time.’
‘How long?’ I ask, though it feels insensitive.
I’m prying, but this doesn’t even touch all the intrusive digging I’m holding back–I want to know everything, and I mean every detail.
I basically want him to write me an encyclopaedia of all things vampire and quiz him for hours, Fact or Fiction style.
I want to set up a recorder and notate the story like in Interview With the Vampire.
‘’Bout a hundred years.’
I would love to ask what the hell he was up to in 1926, but I don’t–I just nod and try not to look like I’m judging him. Delicate balance.
‘Tell me what you’re thinking,’ he says, a desperate whisper.
‘I don’t want you to kill me,’ I say simply. ‘For figuring out your secret.’
‘I very much don’t want to kill you, either,’ he says, and I believe him. ‘I wouldn’t–I won’t.’
Our eyes meet, nothing guarded about his expression nor mine, just a bombshell of a discovery and honest sentiments between us.
‘Are you going to make me forget?’ I ask, another piece of common vampiric lore coming to mind. ‘Can you do that? Make people forget things, or do things for you? That’s how you got this job, right?’
‘I can make people do things,’ he agrees. ‘It is how I got this job.’
‘Not very ethical of you.’
‘Can’t make you do anything, though. Amnesia is the only way you’re forgetting this, I fear.’
I blink, astounded by this revelation, then remember the few times he’s spoken to me with such intensity, like he was willing me with all his might to do what he said. I think about how I laughed in his face or called him weird each time.
‘Why?’
‘Don’t know. I can’t compel you, can’t change your thoughts, can’t move you to action, can’t even seem to charm you—’
‘You’re charming in your way,’ I mutter, interrupting his flow.
Elijah breathes out an almost-laugh and then shakes his head. ‘Maybe you were sent here to torment me. See through me and discover all my secrets.’
‘I don’t know all your secrets, just this really big one,’ I say, but I do want to know all of his secrets.
I have an insatiable desire to pry him open and extract every one.
It’s creepy how much I want to snoop about his brain.
‘But I think the opposite is true. I think you were sent to torment me. First you take my job, then they make me train you and you’ve never even heard of a VPN. ’
Then you made me like you. Kissed me like you were possessed.
‘I’ve been sort of out of commission for the last little while. Missed some things,’ he says.
‘How long is a little while?’
Elijah shakes his head, almost laughing at himself. ‘About a hundred years.’
‘Oh,’ I say, message received. Elijah’s been ‘out of commission’ since the last time he killed someone. Whether that was of his own accord or not, I’m not sure and I don’t think I’m supposed to ask. Maybe he’s been serving a sentence in vampire prison. What do I know about vampire politics?
‘I’m reintegrating now. I think it used to be easier to do, but things change so exponentially I’m just feeling a bit… well, you’ve seen it. I’m slow.’
He’s right, but a flare of defensiveness for him ignites in my stomach.
I’m not sure why I want to assure him that he’s doing better than he thinks when he’s mostly been the bane of my work existence for a month.
Maybe it’s because he’s doing much better now.
Or maybe it’s because I feel like the only one who can say something critical about his work performance is me.
‘Why do you need the job anyway?’ I ask instead.
‘Same as you, I’m guessing. Money.’
‘Wait, you’re like four hundred years old and you still haven’t figured out personal finances? Aren’t vampires supposed to be rich?’
Elijah doesn’t look offended, only huffs a laugh and lightly bumps his elbow against my arm.
‘Rude,’ he chides, still smirking. ‘You’re right, though. Vampires are rich, usually. But my funds are tied up, unfortunately. Plus, I wanted to work. Something to do.’
‘How would you learn about the politics and inner workings of corporate America otherwise?’
‘It is riveting,’ he agrees. ‘And fun.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Well, some parts,’ he says, looking down at me. ‘There’s a beautiful woman who’s unbearably mean to me, for instance.’
‘I don’t know who you’re talking about, but she’s probably very gracious and friendly.’ It feels so good to slip into flirting with him that I can almost pretend he didn’t confirm a life-altering secret minutes ago. ‘Does your friend know? Dylan?’
‘Yes, he’s—’ Elijah cuts off and coughs. ‘He knows. He’s been helping me. With the whole modern society thing.’
‘And how’s that going?’
Elijah tilts his head from side to side then scratches the back of his neck. ‘Rather poorly if this conversation is any indicator.’ His lips pinch in a tight line, amusement from moments ago now gone.
He shouldn’t beat himself up for the fact that a woman who came of age during the vampire craze figured out that he was a vampire–honestly, the odds were stacked against him in this one case.
I doubt Ryan or Kenneth would even think to guess that he was actually a supernatural being.
I’ve heard Kenneth say ‘that guy’s a beast’ in reference to Elijah, but that’s because he thinks Elijah has buff shoulders (true), not because he sustains his life force by way of human blood.
He could be a little less obvious, though.
And first matter of business, he shouldn’t be kissing any human men or women if he’s liable to fang out at them like that.
Now that I think about it, he shouldn’t really be kissing anyone who doesn’t know his secret.
Which leaves a generous sample size of me and Dylan for kissing.
‘I could help you,’ I say, before I can think better of it. Elijah looks dumbstruck at the offer.
‘Help me how?’
‘Help you seem human. I’m really good at being human, usually.’
‘Usually,’ he says, and the shadow of a smile is back, which feels like a win. ‘What did you have in mind?’
The glass doors onto the roof open, letting out a group of girls bundled in their coats with steaming coffees in hand.
We’re quiet while they mosey down to the other side of the roof patio to sit on some of the comfier chairs and chat.
They’re too far away to really hear us, but I inch closer to Elijah and lower my voice anyway.
He inhales as I do, but doesn’t replace the distance between our bodies.
‘I’ll show you things that a man born in 1992 should know. Essential media, activities, the usual stuff. I’ll show you the ropes. I’ll be your buddy.’
‘You’re already my buddy; it’s an assignment you look at with great disdain,’ he reminds me.
‘Yes, but that was before I knew you were geriatric.’ ‘Hey!’ Elijah laughs, a light sound.
‘Ancient, really.’
‘You wound me.’ He presses his palm over his heart, and I wonder if it beats beneath his skin or sits perfectly preserved in his chest. ‘If I’d known you’d be this nice to me I’d have told you my secret a month ago.’
I would have called him crazy if he’d told me a month ago.
I was so sure he was my nemesis; I would’ve thought he was ridiculing me.
Now, though, he seems so earnest, relieved even, to be talking about this hidden truth that’s been weighing on his every interaction.
I don’t understand it, don’t fully know how anything works, but I do believe him.
‘Deal still stands, but now when there’s a promotion open, you’ll help me get it with your vampire magic,’ I tell him, doing jazz hands in representation.
‘Not very ethical of you,’ he echoes. I narrow my eyes but can’t keep my lips from pulling up into a smirk no matter how hard I try.
He turns to match my position leaning against the roof’s ledge, his amusement reflecting my own. Elijah holds his hand out to me, and I put mine in his, giving a firm shake.
‘Deal,’ he says. ‘How about we get dinner tonight and I answer your burning questions?’
‘A date?’ I tease.
‘A date,’ he agrees.
I take a deep breath, then shrug. ‘I guess I can be free.’
Elijah tsks and pushes off the wall, two hands in his pockets as he inclines his head towards the glass double doors.
‘Come on. We should probably go make sure Kenneth hasn’t sent a Drummond-wide email about us kissing in a closet,’ Elijah says.
We stand side by side in the elevator, the steel door reflecting smiles on each of our faces.