Chapter 23 Elijah
Elijah
It’s been two weeks of evenings with Molly–finishing work and going somewhere, both of us in our work clothes, or meeting up a few hours later.
I think I love New York City, or at least the version of New York City that Molly lives in.
Jellie left after a few days, rushing back to her secret research with a few new ancient texts collected from a witch in the city.
While it was lovely to spend time with her, I was anxious to get back to spending time with Molly.
‘Of course,’ I always agree, pulling her closer.
I’ve also learned that while Mr Pibb isn’t her favourite cola, she gets it every time she goes to the theatre, because ‘it just tastes better there–it’s an unknowable science’.
I learn that along with literature, she loves art, and on a cloudy Saturday she takes me to the Met where we walk around quietly, arms brushing against each other every so often.
I see a piece by the young artist I loved two centuries ago and she holds my hand while I stare at it for too long, remembering for the first time in years the look of concentration while he worked, the way he slept with paint under his nails and smeared on his chin, his limbs sprawled across mine, and how he woke with unkempt hair he’d let me brush.
I tell Molly of these memories while she eats a steaming bowl of ramen, and she threads her ankles between mine under the table.
Molly never stresses about me not eating in her favourite restaurants, easily telling the staff that I’m allergic to everything or on a weird fasting diet.
I love watching her–I love the way she tells stories with her hands gesturing wildly while she speaks, love how she exclaims about her food and effusively thanks employees wherever we go.
All our outings feel like I’m getting away with something, like at any moment my brother might appear and ridicule me for growing too attached to another human.
I can’t bring myself to fear this when Molly dozes off with her head on my shoulder on the train and I am full of such warmth it makes me feel almost living.
Sitting with Molly in the cafeteria on Monday, I peel three Cuties for her while she eats a sandwich she packed.
‘So how does one become a vampire anyway?’ she asks casually. We’re tucked in a shady corner while most others enjoying their lunches bask in the lovely sunny day shining through the tall windows. Molly doesn’t seem to mind.
‘It’s simple, or it should be,’ I tell her. ‘A human must die after drinking a vampire’s blood. If all goes to plan, they wake up undead a short time later.’
‘That’s it? How much blood? Like a lot of it?’
‘Not sure there’s a required measure.’ I tilt my head, remembering in gruesome detail the first and last time I tried to turn someone.
‘Vampire blood can heal almost any wound, so in general, vampires are very protective of it.’ This is a secret I would be punished for telling, but I think I would tell Molly any single thing she asked.
‘Neat trick,’ she says, then crunches on a crisp. She layers them in her sandwiches, one for every bite.
‘If you create a vampire, you’re responsible for them for the rest of your immortal life, so it’s not a decision made lightly,’ I explain.
‘Big commitment,’ she agrees, chewing on her lower lip for a moment before taking another bite. ‘You said it should be easy. Is it not always?’
I rub the back of my neck, the familiar grief and guilt warring for dominance in my chest. It’s been so long that so many of my memories of Ada have faded–I cannot recall her voice, her laugh, even the details of her face are soft around the edges. The guilt wins over the grief most days.
‘Some humans aren’t meant to be vampires,’ I say. ‘There’s no way to know if the change will take until it’s too late.’
Molly fills her cheeks up with air then exhales. ‘That’s brutal. Did your mother know? When she turned you all.’
‘No.’ I’m confident she didn’t know the risk, though I think if she had it wouldn’t have swayed her.
The possibility of forever with her children was easier for her to swallow than her living on while the rest of us aged and died one by one like our father had.
Evangeline had been married at the time, another of the house staff–the tutor of the children of the manor–and when she confessed to him what she’d become, he tried to have her, and the rest of us, killed.
This is when we learned the powers of compulsion. Evangeline mourned the man she loved after she made him forget her existence. It took centuries for her to come to trust humans again.
‘Have you ever made another vampire?’ Molly asks. I place the final peeled orange on Molly’s napkin, knowing she’ll save them for after her sandwich but before the cookie.
‘I tried, once.’
Molly winces, her face apologetic at my meaning. ‘Was it, by chance, about a hundred years ago?’
I offer what I can manage of a smile. ‘Ever perceptive.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘For whatever happened. It couldn’t have been easy.’
‘It was a long time ago,’ I tell her. ‘Your grandparents’ parents might not have been born yet.’
‘And you’ve been alone since?’
I clench my jaw while I try to formulate a response. ‘Not completely alone. But yes, I’ve been in a bit of stasis. A holding pattern.’
Molly frowns then nudges the toe of my shoe with hers. ‘Glad you made your way out of it,’ she says. ‘Though, you have a way to go before I declare you fully human-passing.’
‘Is it still so obvious?’ I ask, resting my chin on my fist. The scent of citrus lingers on my fingers.
Molly pinches my pinkie finger on the table, a small gesture, but I’m touched by the simple display. ‘I’ve never seen anyone that looks like you.’
‘That bad?’ I joke.
‘You know you’re handsome, don’t pretend.’
I preen under her compliment. I’d like to hold her hand across the table, but that would be too much, too far, too romantic. I need to remind myself what we are and what we aren’t.
Friends, Elijah, Molly loves to remind me when she thinks I’m looking at her with too much emotion.
This isn’t a romantic entanglement, it’s a platonic one with physical perks.
I have to remind myself of this when she tucks yellow curls behind her ears and I have to clench my fists to not do it for her.
On the table, Molly’s phone buzzes with a message, and she peers at the screen to read the summary before she sighs with fanfare.
‘What happened?’
‘Ryan asked if I’d get one of the boardrooms set up for an afternoon workshop on thirteen.’ Molly pops half of a little orange into her mouth and types back a response.
‘I’ll help you,’ I tell her. Her eyes spark with mischief and she grins.
In the boardroom we are tasked with setting up for the executives coming in after lunch. Someone’s left a bag of sour candy on the table. Molly gasps, swiping it.
‘The executive floor gets all the good snacks,’ she murmurs, tearing the little bag open and pouring a few multicoloured candies onto her palm.
Molly is an indiscriminate candy lover–an indiscriminate food lover, really–and I don’t know that I could ever tire of her enthusiasm.
She holds one up for me to see, a red bear shape covered in a fine white dust.
‘Sour gummy bear,’ she says, then pops it into her mouth. Her lips purse as she chews, then eats another.
I should be doing what she instructed me to do–setting up the cameras, making sure they’re all connected and in working order. But I’m captivated by the moving of her mouth as she chews, the light in her eyes.
‘Have you ever tasted one?’ she asks.
I shake my head, though Dylan keeps bags of the gummy worm variety in the kitchen drawer with the packets of sauce left over from his takeout orders.
‘Makes sense.’ Molly shrugs. ‘Sour gummy worms and Red Forty weren’t popular in three hundred bc.’
Molly’s perfect ass rests against the conference table as she smirks at me. I take the opportunity to step closer, planting one hand on either side of her hips, crowding her against the table. She glances nervously towards the closed door, but amusement dances across her face.
‘You are such a minx,’ I tell her.
‘I can be nice,’ she says. ‘I’m plenty nice to you.’
‘No, Molly, I think you are very, very mean.’
Molly puts another two gummy bears on her tongue, chewing and swallowing them before grinning. ‘Would you like to taste one?’
‘I can’t…’
Her meaning dawns on me and her mock innocent look melts into the mischief I’ve grown accustomed to in these last days.
I lower my mouth to hers, both of us smiling as our lips, then tongues, press together. I fear I could kiss Molly for ever and ever and not feel the need to stop. She is delectable with the sweetness of candy on her tongue or not; kissing her feels like getting away with something.
I’m dangerously close to lifting her leg to slide up my thigh, but if we do that, I’ll be inclined to kiss her deeper, and then I’ll want to do other things, things we haven’t done yet, and the meeting will be starting in the next twenty minutes, so I think we’d better not unless I want to compel a team of Drummond employees into forgetting what they’ve seen.
I pull back and Molly’s eyes are bright and wanting.
‘Come out with me tonight,’ I say and she nods without pretending to think about it. ‘As friends.’
‘Fine,’ she says.
Texts between Molly and Elijah, 19 November 2026
Elijah: Hello Molly, Elijah here. Wondered if you’d like to accompany me to the cinema this evening. Dylan has informed me of an IMAX showing of Top Gun 2 that he says is required viewing.
Elijah: Let me know at your earliest convenience. Elijah
Molly: you don’t have to tell me it’s you, I saved your number
Molly: and don’t sign text messages
Elijah: noted.
Molly: Is Dylan coming too?
Molly: to the movie
Elijah: no, he has to work late
Molly: an emoji! Who taught you how to use emojis?
Elijah: Devi
Elijah: I like the wilting rose one best.
Molly: I like that one too, but have you seen the dove?
Molly: I’ll go with you. Dylan is right about it being required American viewing.
Molly: If you get the popcorn (extra butter) and a Mr Pibb, I’ll bring the junior mints and eat them all
Elijah: Consider it done.