Chapter 3 #2
By nearly 3:00 a.m., all six fanglings were sweating, exhausted, leaning on one another at the edge of the woods.
“Persistence will carry you further than skill, in some cases.” I dropped on silent toes from the branches, joining them on the carpeted forest floor.
Already, my senses were heightened to their predatory peak—I could hear every twig rustling, every snuffling creature in the underbrush, every careful step of a possible target for my next lesson.
“Lucky for you all, you seem to have that in abundance, at least.”
“Yeah, lucky us,” huffed Frederick. I ignored him, gesturing to the dark thicket behind us.
“If you refuse a human meal, it is possible to feed on alternative sources instead. But I must warn you, they will not sustain you in the same way—you will need many more animals to maintain your hunger than a single human. And the taste is . . . ” I shuddered. “Less than desirable.”
“Oh! It’s just like in—”
“Don’t.” Alfred cut off Benedict with a snarl.
“No, it’s alright, Master Alfred.” I turned to Benedict.
“You’re correct. Humans have tried to soften the vampiric image for romantic fantasies by essentially neutering their powers with vegetarianism.
It turns up in many popular media in this age.
But do not be fooled—you cannot live a full immortal life on animal blood alone. ”
“What happens if you do?” Ford asked.
“You’ll waste away to a shell of yourself, barely able to catch the next rat you need to stay alive. Until eventually, you reach such a point of starvation that you lose control anyway, snatching the first human unfortunate enough to stumble your way.”
“Then what’s the point?” Alex threw his hands up in frustration. “Why are you torturing us like this?”
“You have been coddled until now. No one has told you the truth of our existence, which is this—it is a curse. We are unholy monsters damned to stalk this earth until some hero with a god complex strikes us down.” The fanglings stilled, red eyes wide and flat, none of the glittering starlight reflecting in their anxious gaze.
“The best you can do is face that truth head-on, so you stand a chance of carving a life for yourself that doesn’t make you curse your own existence.
” There was more truth pouring from me than I’d intended—more stains on my own memory than I wanted to share.
I squared my shoulders, tried to slip back into the teacher disguise that had saved me so many times before.
“And that means understanding how to curb your appetites, how to control yourselves before you’ve committed the kind of atrocities that make you want to walk into the sun of your own volition. ”
My voice echoed in the silence, the telltale twitching twigs and hoofed steps stilled entirely at my tone.
“We won’t.” Benedict stepped forward, finally straightening his shoulders. “We won’t be bad, Professor. We’ll learn.”
“The rest of the world—human and inhuman—will try to tell you you’re a lost cause.
They will brand you a monster.” I looked to each fangling in turn, memorizing this moment as understanding settled over each.
This could be the thread of hope that saved them—finally recognizing the treacherous mire they were about to ford together, that thin line between ghoul and vampire, between mindless hunger and conscious choice.
Regardless of how awful that choice may be.
“It is up to each of you to decide whether the rest of the world is right.” I gestured to the dark wood again, stepping to the side beneath a towering oak. “Now, hunt.”
They were gone before I could blink, newly honed silence carrying them deep into the shadows, renewed understanding pumping their muscles, lengthening their fangs.
They would become predators yet.
The fanglings returned empty-handed from their first hunt. They slumped, defeated, past me, making the trudge back to the hotel in silence. Dawn was close, already the softest tinge lightening the horizon.
“We’ll return to hunting skills tomorrow night,” I called after them. “Good work tonight, young masters.” They didn’t so much as gesture over their shoulder, all their chaotic energy spent.
Maybe this meant William wouldn’t heckle me with breakfast at the crack of evening again.
Stiff from sitting in a tree all night, but still too restless to return to my dirt, I set off toward the village, curious about the stretch of thatched cottages and old-world shops I’d barely glanced at the night before.
I slowed my pace, taking in the peaty mud squelching beneath me, the whispering brush of tall grass at my ankles.
When I reached the edge of the first cobblestone street, I paused, trailing my gaze over each flickering streetlamp until it disappeared around a curve.
Between the hand-painted signs and the refitted gas fixtures, it was eerily similar to how this place must’ve looked when Billy was still human.
There was something about Ashbourne that felt rooted in time more than place—as if lords in dusters and ladies in bonnets could trot jovially around the corner at any moment. But instead, I’d been accosted by ethical fanglings and an American polyglot.
I followed the curve of the road through town, past the finally silent pub and deeper through side streets until they opened upon a modest square.
A church loomed at the far side, freshly renovated, based on the construction remnants awaiting pickup in a tidy pile.
My fingers itched, as they always did, to make the sign of the cross.
My final human habit that wouldn’t die with the rest of me.
I wiped my hands on my pants instead, releasing the urge.
To the right of the solemn steeple was the town hall, a much smaller, squat building with tiny square windows and a sagging door that gave it the appearance of a mournful face. Billy had suggested I start my research there but admitted the church most likely had more robust records.
All these centuries later, organized religion still controlled education across the globe.
I’d have to request Miss Amato investigate the church.
Since she knew of my curse, I wouldn’t need to feign discomfort or atheism to avoid entering the space.
Remembering what I’d said to the fanglings hours before about human attachments and endangering the legion if humans found out, I realized I’d need to give the same lecture to Billy.
No wonder the fanglings were so soft and disorganized—that lunatic had been their only mentor thus far.
The rest of the square was filled with a few attractions—a photography studio, a bakery, and a sweets shop.
A light clicked on in the back of the bakery, spurring my flight back to the hotel.
I’d learned to rely on human bakers like some kind of organic clock, as they almost always arrived at their post in the few moments before dawn, timing their work on the cadence of yeast and early risers.
Dawn was no longer a threat, but a full-fledged promise, the first pink stretches lancing through the night, streaking across the sky like a bloodied hand over a pristine frock.
When I was first turned—not so far removed from the fanglings state now—I’d mourned the loss of the sun.
I’d try to stay longer and longer through its glorious rising each day, testing the limits of my curse, sometimes scorching parts of myself so deeply I’d need several days to recuperate.
But it was never enough. I never made it to see the sun crest, to feel its warmth on my too-cold body.
Somewhere, long before I ever considered boarding a ship for the New World, when the thought of vampirism was but a ghost story told by my nonna around a roaring hearth, I had memories of the sun.
It was a different beast in the Italian countryside than I remembered it in the harsh chill of New England—unrelenting, omnipresent, yes, but gracious, giving, the source of our life and our livelihoods.
I had memories of chasing my brother down a dirt road, roaring green hills on either side of us, the sun sliding sweat down my back, over my brow as we screamed with laughter.
I had memories of my mother hanging gauzy white linens to dry beneath the beams, flashes of light blinding me as they rippled in the breeze.
I had memories of life, growth, new buds reaching tendrils to the sky, grateful for the gift of the sun.
If only having a memory were the same as remembering.
Staring at the horizon, daring the sun to reach me one more time, Alex’s voice floated through my mind.
“We didnae ask for this.”
“No,” I muttered to no one. “Who would?”