CHAPTER EIGHT
Ailsa
I WOKE WITH a racing heart and a sheen of sweat cooling my skin as I was startled awake by the gentle touch of someone’s hand to my shoulder. I wiped at my mouth, subconsciously worried that I should be hiding something, and opened my eyes to find a kind looking older woman smiling down at me.
“You can’t sleep here, love,” she said, taking a seat on the pew beside me.
Pew.
It was only then that I realised I was in a church.
A fucking church?
“But there’s a woman’s charity just two doors down where you can get yourself some breakfast. I can give you a referral to be put on the accommodation list if you like,” the older woman continued.
I rubbed at my eyes as I took in my reality.
I was in a church?
The air was cool and faintly damp, holding the lingering scent of incense, old stone and candle wax. Rows of wooden pews stretched in straight, orderly lines and stained glass windows lined the sides of the walls, filtering whatever light managed to break through the no doubt grey skies.
How the fuck did I end up here? I hadn’t been to mass in some twenty years. My mother had been religious of course, but I never saw sense in it. Certainly not comfort.
Silence stretched between us. I could hear everything—the faint creak of the wooden beams, the soft rustle of her clothes, the slow, steady thump of her heart.
God.
That sound.
My throat tightened. My tongue felt like sandpaper. I swallowed hard, but it didn’t help. Instead, I was ambushed with a flash of memories.
Oh fuck.
It wasn't a nightmare.
I was a vampire.
A goddamn blood sucker.
Like in a fucking movie or tv show.
And I killed someone. And attacked another.
I could make it three…
The pulse in her neck called to me.
God. No.
I staggered back so fast I nearly tripped over the pew behind me. “Thanks, but no thanks. There’s no need. I’m fine.”
“Fine folk don’t tend to sleep in churches, love.
We all have our demons, there’s no shame in it.
But you have to get a hold on them and you can’t do that here.
This is a house of God,” she said, and I saw her for what she really was.
A pious woman, one who spoke softly in prayer but sharply in whispers.
Someone who could wrap judgement in concern so neatly it almost sounded like kindness.
She sat there in her modest, practical and slightly dated outfit.
Sensible shoes and skirt that fell far below the knee, cardigan buttoned properly.
“Of course,” I said, pulling my hoodie closer against me as I stepped back. “I’ll be on my way.”
The woman smiled, though I could see her disapproving judgement written all over her face.
So much for help thy neighbour or those in need…
I stood a moment longer than I needed to, then turned and made my way down the aisle, my footsteps echoing too loudly against the stone.
It felt as though the walls had drawn in without moving. I knew every step was watched—I could feel it like a weight pressing in from all sides, thick with something unspoken.
She watched my every step until I’d made it to where a small wall-fountain basin sat. The holy water and its ritual expectation stared at me. Fuck, I really hoped those tales about vampires and holy water were fiction.
Please don’t burn.
Please don’t burn.
I ironically prayed.
Then, with the old woman watching I dipped the tips of my fingers into the cool liquid, quickly bringing it to my forehead and doing the sign of the cross with a sweet smile on my face when I realised it wouldn’t hurt me.
Feeling smug as shit and untouchable I pushed the door open harder than necessary and stepped outside, the cool morning air hitting me like a slap to the face.
Only then did I realise how tightly I’d been holding myself together.
I had wandered further than I’d realised last night, to the edge of the old part of the city.
The overwhelming sharpness in my senses from before had dulled, receding to something more manageable.
The noise had quieted. The scents no longer crashed into me all at once.
It was all still there but it seemed distant now, like I could reach for them if I wanted rather than having to endure them.
My skin had settled too. No more crawling unease.
I slowed as the first golden stream of sunlight began to break over the rooftops, a thin line of gold cutting across the horizon. It spilled slowly, and my gaze lifted.
There it was.
The sun.
A strange stillness settled over me as I stepped forward, reaching a hand into it, testing the moment without quite knowing why. Every story, every half-remembered myth flickered through my mind.
Burning.
Ash.
Death.
But, the light touched my skin and… nothing.
Just warmth.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding as something loosened in my chest. I stood there, letting the early morning light settle over me.
It felt ordinary, almost disappointingly so.
What had I expected?
I glanced down at my hands, turning them slightly as the sunlight caught against my skin.
They were still my hands.
I was still me.
But not really.
My brow furrowed slightly as the questions I’d been avoiding began to surface properly.
What was I?
Who was I?
How?
I had no memory of anything out of the ordinary. Who had done this to me? Had anyone done it? Or had it always been there, waiting? Had I been born a monster?
The thought unsettled me more than anything else so far.
I looked back at the quiet street, the world slowly beginning to stir at its edges, and for the first time since all of this began, the confusion settled deeper.
I had too many questions and no one to answer them.