Chapter 17 #2
“Because the very first time you found out what he was, you asked him not to. So Hayden stopped. Right then.” Delia smirks. “When it comes to you, he’s less a bloodsucker and more of just…a sucker.”
My heart melts. That feels impossible, too good to be true. If he’s willing to do that for me, then why won’t he even kiss me? I finally ask her one of my most burning questions.
“How did you meet Hayden?”
Delia’s expression turns pensive. Serious. I realize that maybe her humor’s been slightly deflective.
It occurs to me that if Delia was telling me the truth earlier back in our dorm room and this is the first time out of all my lives that we’ve gotten close, this is wildly new for her too. Maybe she’s never been this close to a human at all. I’m sure it’s unsettling.
After all, if I were a vampire, relishing the gifts of strength, immortality, and supernatural abilities, would I want a reminder of what it felt like to be mortal? A naked, unshelled turtle, pried open and belly exposed?
“I think to tell you how I met Hayden, I need to tell you about Nicolai.” Delia flexes her fingers and rolls her neck. She looks like she’s trying to gear up for the conversation. I bite my lip and reach out, setting my hand on her arm.
“You don’t have to talk about it if it’s too painful—”
“It’s not painful,” Delia snaps. When I jerk back, she blinks, surprised.
“Shit. Sorry. I…” Delia frowns. “Sorry, Rose. I’ve never talked about Nico with anyone besides Hayden.
Especially a human. Not that you’re just a human, I…
Ugh.” Delia leans on the table, rubbing her forehead.
“What did Hayden tell you about the relationship between maker and vampire?”
“Nothing,” I admit, weirdly hurt.
“Wow,” she mutters, “he really is trying to do things differently this time.” She sits back in her chair and looks out the window. The gray sky is growing dark. Another few leaves fall from the arterial branches of the great oak tree by the window.
“There’s a lot of bullshit out there,” Delia begins, “about how vampires are made. If some stories are to be believed, you accidentally nick a human with your fangs, that’s it.
Baby vamp.” Delia stirs her tea slowly. “Truth is, it’s complicated.
And the transformation itself is painful.
Probably the most painful thing a human can go through.
But worst of all, it’s dangerous—if you don’t accidentally kill your human before you attempt the turn, you still need to worry if they’ll survive the transformation. Hardly anyone survives it.”
“Why?” I ask, wide-eyed.
“I dunno,” she whispers. “It doesn’t seem to matter whether the human is old or young, healthy or sick, strong or weak…
it’s a total toss-up. There’s theories—like if there’s a strong enough bond, there’s a higher survival rate—but I think that’s bullshit.
Super unfair to all the heartbroken vamps I’ve come across over the years, still mourning the human they’d wanted to spend eternity with.
” Something like guilt flickers over her face, and she glances up at me.
“Sorry, sort of a sensitive subject for you two, I know.” I drop my eyes to my lap, where I’ve shredded a napkin.
“Actually,” I say, “why hasn’t Hayden tried to turn me? If I died, wouldn’t I just come back? That’s the one good thing about the curse, at least.”
Delia puts a hand on mine, her face falling sad. “Truth is, this is where it gets tricky. When you die as a vampire, or in the process of becoming one, you’re dead-dead. Gone forever. No chance or sliver of hope for reincarnation.”
“I thought vampires were immortal. How do you even kill a vampire?”
Delia holds up three fingers and ticks them off. “A stake through the chest. Fire. Having your head ripped from your body.”
“Head ripped from your body?” I wince.
“Only another vampire is strong enough to do that.” Delia goes silent for a long moment.
“Who…Does anyone know how the reincarnation thing works?” I ask.
Delia leans back hard in her chair, rubbing her eyes.
“Another of those mysteries of the universe. Here’s the sense I get based on what I’ve heard a few witches and older vamps say over the centuries: Humans are soft and squishy all over, including their souls.
They’re sort of bouncy, not so tethered.
That’s why you hear about these out-of-body experiences, like people watching their own surgeries or miraculous near-death pull-throughs.
“Vampires? Different story. I don’t know how else to explain it, but…
it’s like we’re calcified spiritually. It’s like our soul fuses with our physical selves.
Part of the preservation process, I guess?
The cost of immortality? I don’t fucking know.
” Delia’s fingers are still pressed to her eyes.
“The important thing is this: When we die, it is the true death. Obliteration.” She drops her hand, her dark eyes flat as buttons.
“That’s why vamps aren’t necessarily a dime a dozen.
Why it’s a big deal to turn a human. Vampires won’t do it unless they’re desperate.
” She pauses, her voice hushing. “Or desperately in love with their human.”
For one inexplicable moment, Delia’s mouth crumples. Understanding dawns.
“Was Nicolai your maker?” I ask.
Delia’s eyes stay on the table. “What you have to understand, Rose, is the bond between a vampire and their maker is sacred. A maker is the bridge between life and death. They’re the hand of god pulling you out from the pit of rot into eternity.
” She lifts her eyes to mine. “Yeah. Nico was my maker.
“Like anything, no two vampire-maker bonds are the same. Vampires turn humans for different reasons. It can be more familial: a parent, child, or sibling kind of deal. Sometimes it’s mentor and mentee.
No matter what, that connection is strong, unquestionably intimate.
Think about it. Your maker is there for your first kill, first feed.
They teach you in your most vulnerable newborn moments.
And unlike when you’re a human, you remember everything. ”
“Tell me about Nico.” I put my hand gently on hers. Delia blinks down at my fingers, covers them with her other hand.
“I won’t bore you with the details,” she says thickly.
“I was a peasant born in the slums of London. My mother actually did give birth to me during a production of The Winter’s Tale, like I told you when we first met.
But in the audience, among the rabble. Women weren’t allowed onstage yet in the 1600s.
” Delia pulls back, tucking her arms tight against her chest, casting a hollow gaze out the window.
“Nico found me. And for whatever reason, he fell in love with me. Rose, he was…so beautiful. Men and women, peasants and gentry fell in love with him after one glance at his face. He had dimples, and I loved running my hands through his hair, especially after…well. Anyway.”
Delia falls quiet for a few long moments. I watch her, aching for her, trying not to let my tears fall. It feels sacrilegious, the little eighteen-year-old mortal crying over her incomprehensible loss.
“He saved me, Rose,” she finally continues.
“Before him, my world was brown, made of mud and shit and the dead-toothed smiles of men with greedy, violent hands who were always grasping and yanking at my clothes, my hair. Nico saved me. He gave the world color. Took it with him when he died.” Her eyes fall shut.
“This is something else you need to understand, Rose. Hayden and I? We’re the fucking Dalai Lama of vampires.
“There are some very ancient vampires out there who only consort with their own kind. They’ll live in seclusion, lose any ounce or memory of their humanity.
When a vampire lives like that, they become something else entirely.
They’ll roam the world, territorial, savage demons, slaughtering humans like livestock and killing any vampire they see as a threat.
” Delia takes a painful pause. “I didn’t know,” she whispers.
“I was so thirsty, and I…I didn’t know it was another vampire’s territory.
Hard to sense other vamps sometimes. Nico wanted to wait until night to hunt, but I was so thirsty, I begged for him to hunt.
” Delia buries her face in her hands. “It was my fault he was hunting there that day. If I’d waited like he’d asked, he never would have…
” Delia drops her hands, looks me in the eye.
“I watched, hidden in the bushes, as Nico was torn apart in front of me.”
“Delia…” I clap my hands over my mouth, eyes welling. “I’m so sorry.”