21. Juliette
Juliette
THE ILLUSION OF CHOICE
The evening it happened, dinner was a simple affair.
After the turn of the eighteenth century, Dante had hired a decorator—a fellow vampire, who came highly recommended—to re-do the entire mansion.
The dining room table no longer takes up the span of the entire room; now it is far more intimate.
We sit directly across from each other while Selene lingers nearby in a corner like a cobweb.
He's right. I haven’t touched the heart on my plate. Ever since he forced me to gorge myself on my own mother’s heart, I’ve lost my taste for offal and other organs. Yet he serves it to me at least once a month anyway, like some sort of twisted reminder.
“I’m not hungry,” I say, pushing the plate away.
Dante’s eyes narrow, and he sets his silverware down. “You haven’t eaten anything at all today. You must eat if you are to remain strong, little dove.”
Selene takes a step forward, but Dante shakes his head.
“No, no,” he says. “We do not need that this evening, I’m sure, Selene.”
I press my fingertips to the indentation of my throat and wince.
I can still feel Selene’s malicious grasp around my neck.
She tormented me for years, forcing me to eat when Dante couldn’t bring himself to do it personally.
Self-preservation kicks in, and I grab the dessert spoon from my napkin and dip it in the pool of blood collecting around the heart.
“That’s a good girl,” Dante says in a tone bordering on affection.
But affection was reserved for humans, not creatures like us.
He said so himself, once, when I asked him for a hug.
That was at least a hundred years or so ago.
One evening, he came home from a raid on a nearby village, and I greeted him at the window, my arms wide open.
“Little dove,” he said to me, not unkindly. “That sort of thing is for mortals. It is beneath us. We are not humans any longer, are we?”
The memory of the rejection still makes my eyes sting with bloody tears. Dante notices the look on my face, because he leans forward on his elbows and says, “What has you so upset this evening, my dear?”
I force myself to look him in the eye, then lick the spoon clean before setting it back down like I am a timid barn swallow. “Nothing,” I lie.
His expression hardens. “You know you cannot lie to me. I know when you are lying, Juliette.”
“I just … I— I would like to leave the mansion, I suppose,” I rasp. “Sometimes the mansion is a little suffocating.”
“You do not leave the mansion unless it’s important, you know this. It’s not safe for you out there. Besides, we have been raiding often these nights,” he says. “Surely, that should suffice.”
I shake my head. “For reasons other than raiding. I wish to see the world. Go to new places. Without … killing, I mean.”
In one fell movement, Dante lets out a roar and flips the table onto its side, scattering the plates, silverware, and organ meat everywhere. Selene lets out a startled gasp but remains in her corner. I, on the other hand, run from the room.
Dante’s roars follow me out into the hallway as I race down the stair. “Run away if you want, little dove, but I will always find you! I will always find you!”
His voice haunts my every step as I race out the front door of the estate and down the cobblestone path toward the forest.
The forest surrounding the estate is my special safe space.
It’s part of our estate, and so I am allowed to visit, but only once per day.
A place where I can escape the confines of Dante’s prison, if only for a little while.
But nothing lasts forever. Especially not the good things.
When I reach the comforting trunk of the mossy oak I’ve come to love, I catch a whiff of something burning in the air.
Odd.
The nearest settlement is too far away for me to smell them, and besides, the wind isn’t even strong today. I climb the oak and sit in its cradle of branches, looking out over the tops of the trees, searching for the source of the unusual scent.
And then, in the distance, I spot the glowing embers of fire. They dance like fireflies, moving swiftly toward the mansion.
My mouth goes bone dry. “Putain. We have visitors.”
My bones crack and snap with ease thanks to years of practice, and once my grotesque transformation is complete, I beat my leathery wings and take to the sky.
I soar above the treetops and look down to catch a glimpse of humans carrying torches.
Dozens upon dozens of them. So many that they look like ants descending on a blot of jam.
They’re coming for Dante. For us. Their angry voices rise in chorus as they march on the estate.
For the first time in my long, miserable existence, I am presented with a choice: Fly away now and allow the mob to attack Dante.
Disappear. He is strong, but not strong enough to hold back an entire horde, even with the staff. They’ll be ash before morning.
Or, go back to my sire and warn him of the danger. Be his good little dove, and we can escape together. He’ll want to mete out his vengeance on the humans later, of course, and he’ll force me to butcher most of these people in their sleep.
It isn’t much of a choice at all.
I lift my head toward the stars and allow my wings to carry me away, far away, from here.
I’ll take whatever freedom I can get, even if it’s short lived.
I’ll find somewhere new to call my home and do a fresh Blood Rite so I won’t have to worry about turning to ash at sunrise.
Should be simple enough. I’ve seen Dante perform the ritual dozens of times over the years whenever we’d go somewhere too far for a quick evening trip.
Even if I don’t know where I’m going or what I’ll do once I’m there.
It doesn’t matter. When the cage door opens, the bird doesn’t remain behind bars because she fears future confinement.
I may not be a bird, but I’m no fool either.
And while I never asked for these wings, I will take any advantage I can get.
I only hope I’m strong enough to face whatever comes next.