5. The First Kill
The First Kill
The world unfurls before me, and I am transfixed.
You’ve jostled me to the front of the cart to sit next to the man, gaze no longer trailed behind, but ahead. Ahead to the plain of olive trees that give way to the sea.
“Does it go forever?” I ask, though I can see peaks in the distance. Does the water skirt it, or simply end? Is this the only body of water in the world? I must know the answers to all of this; I must travel the lengths of the water to test my theories.
“No,” you say. You’re behind me, your body pressed close, your mouth on my ear. You pick up my hand and point. “To the west, the Ionian Sea. To the east,” you move my arm once more, pointing the opposite direction. “The Aegean Sea.”
“And this sea?” I ask.
“The Gulf of Corinth,” you answer.
The man turns the cart down the streets of the city Kirra. There are few people on the street, most of them paying us no mind. I track them all as we move, the slow plod of their hearts singing in my ears. I lick my lips, trying to clear them of the saliva that pools there.
“Soon,” you say, resting a hand on my wrist. I consider the man in the cart next to me, but your grip tightens.
He leaves us before an inn, not saying a word as he trots his mount onward. She’s quick to be rid of us, her hooves kicking up dirt as she dances away.
Inside the inn is quiet, the keeper the only soul. His gaze lingers on your face, your hair, then to mine. You step forward and speak in a way I’ve never heard before. Your accent is that of mine, clipped and precise, as though you’d served at the temple your whole life.
“We’re in need of a private room,” you say.
“They’re reserved,” the man replies, crossing his arms.
“Ah, yes,” you say, fumbling through your bag.
I wait for your red eyes to glow, for you to make him listen just as you did the man with the cart.
Instead, you retrieve a small wax tablet.
There are words inscribed upon it, with the seal of the temple below them.
The man takes it from you and glances it over, his gaze resting on the seal.
“You’re from the temple,” he says, his voice a whisper. “Is it true what they say about the…?”
There is a tavern next door, I can hear the noise of it.
I can smell the blood. I can feel the hearts beating, just as I feel the heart of the man just steps from me.
How would it feel to drink of someone other than you?
I know I must, but I am stopped by the want of it.
Do I want to be with another as I have you?
No. The answer is quick, volatile. I want only you, and you shall have no one but me for all eternity.
“You’ll not be disturbed,” he says, handing you a key. You take it and thank him, and we climb the stairs to our room.
“How will you bury me on the second floor?” I ask.
“Hush,” you warn, pressing a finger to my lips.
You do not speak again until we are inside the room, your gaze assessing.
There is one straw pallet with fleas and a lamp that settles on the lone table.
You investigate the corners of the room, the cracks in the walls, looking for any weakness. Then you turn to me.
“Travel is treacherous for our kind,” you say. “We must only go by night and hide through the day. We cannot be without shelter during the day, and you are so young still—you must rest.”
“Why don’t we stay, then?” I ask. We can return to the shack, where it was just you and I, bathing each other clean in the river.
You stroke my face and smile. “The world is large, Melinoe. Do you no longer wish to see it?”
“I wish to be with you,” I say. Stupid words, stupid girl.
“We have nothing but time, my love. We can stay if you’d like, but not here.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“You will not age and others will—they will notice it. They must never notice that you are ageless or strong or different. If they do, they will kill you.”
“Kill me? Can they?”
“They will try. Sometimes they succeed,” you say softly. Then you purse your lips and drop your hand. “Come, I will teach you to hunt.”
We move through the streets of the city to another tavern. I count the heartbeats of the staff and the patrons as we enter, unable to focus on just one. My hands tremble at my side with need and want.
You settle at a table, then raise your hand to a woman. I sit across from you, tracking her movements as she carries clay cups to us. She pours from a large clay jar before moving away to the other patrons. In the corner a few men play dice, their voices carrying across the smokey room.
A man sits next to you, slamming his mug on the table. Sprays of the wine inside fall over the edge, darkening the wood like blood. I pull my mug close to me to keep from grabbing him.
“Late night for two women,” he says, eyeing us up.
“It is,” you agree. “We are travel weary, and in need of some rest.”
“There’s an inn down the way,” he says, leaning toward you. His breath is hot and smells of wine and olives.
“It’s full, I’m afraid,” you say with a sigh.
I take a swig of my drink, instantly spitting it out. It’s rancid, it’s putrid. I want to scrape my tongue to be rid of it. The man stares at me in shock and I wipe my mouth clean.
“She prefers hydromeli,” you say. “Have you any suggestions for other…accommodations?”
The man smiles and my skin crawls. He is lecherous as he regards you, sliding his filthy eyes along your covered skin. He reaches out and touches your hair, and I am nothing but rage. You are mine, I am yours, and no filthy tavern man…
“Melinoe,” you say, snapping me from my visions of dismemberment. “This man has offered us a place to rest. Isn’t that kind?”
“Very kind,” I agree, my words strangled by the tightness of my jaw. I fear my teeth will crack with the pressure.
“We cannot have it look suspect,” you tell the man. “Meet us outside the tavern.”
“Both of you?” he asks, his gaze darting between us.
“Yes,” you say. “Both or none.”
He nods and stands, pushing off the table to disappear into a corner.
“We have a room in the inn,” I grind out. “I don’t want to stay with him. He’s disgusting. He touched you and…”
“Shh, psiche mou. You will understand soon. Come.” You place a coin on the table and stand, nodding for me to follow. I do, glad to be away from the disgusting drink. I can still taste it on my tongue, relieving me of my appetite for a moment.
The man finds us and leads us through the streets to his home near the water’s edge. I hear no other heartbeats inside.
He reaches for you, his hands on your hips, on your thighs, on all the places I’ve claimed with my tongue. I am moving before I realize it, my body poised to strike him down, to kill him for touching what’s mine…
But your hand closes on his neck and lifts him into the air. His eyes bulge, his face purples, his feet kicking uselessly at your shins. His hands grapple with yours, trying to pry them from his neck, trying to sever your hold. But you are strong and you don’t flag, even as he struggles.
“Melinoe,” you say softly. “Come here.”
I step closer, awed by you.
“First, you make eye contact,” you say softly. Your red eyes lock with his. He continues to flail, his mouth opening and closing uselessly.
“Then, you imagine your command. Think it, breathe it, let it roll through your mind. Let it be the only thing you think.”
Spittle coats his bottom lip. Blood vessels burst under his eyes and I am transfixed. The only death I know is my own. The man careens toward death, unable to fend you off.
“Then—speak your command. Speak it as though there is nothing else to do but obey. Speak as though you are a god, as though suffering will follow whoever disregards you. Stop struggling.”
The man goes flaccid in your grip.
“You will not run,” you say, placing him gently back on his feet. He sways, his chest heaving as he fights for breath. But he does not run, even as his eyes alight with fear.
“I want you to command him not to be afraid,” you say. I move toward you and stand before him, tilting my head up to look into his eyes. They are wild, the whites bloodshot, rolling like the mare that pulled the cart. No one has ever feared me before.
“Lock eyes,” you whisper into my ear, your teeth grazing the shell of it. I shiver and do as you say, unblinking at our prey.
“Think your command. Roll it over in your head, in your soul, in your heart. Let it be all you know. And then…say it.”
Do not fear us.
My mind wills his submission. I turn the words over again and again, pulling them close, changing their inflection and cadence. They are my mantra, my prayer.
Do not fear us.
“Do not fear us,” I say.
He pisses himself.
I don’t move. I’ve failed. If I cannot accomplish this one thing, how do I expect to hunt?
Will you take all my kills for me? I can’t bear the thought of leaving you alone with a creature like this, a disgusting human man that would touch you as if you were his property. As if we did not belong to each other.
You kiss the side of my face. “It took me years to get it right. Come, there’s no use practicing while starving.”
I blink, reeling.
“Years?” I ask.
“Years,” you affirm, grabbing his wrist and bringing it to your mouth. You bite and the scent of blood fills the room. I sway, my body aching for the taste. “Come.”
I kneel before you and take his wrist, pressing my lips to it. It tastes of salt and sweat and…oh. Oh. I take a long drink of it, breathing in the euphoria that follows. The man groans, his pants tightening.
“Do they all do that?” I ask in disgust.
“Yes,” you sigh. “Sometimes it’s pleasant when they enjoy it, but…not like this.” You take his wrist from me and drink, your eyes locked on mine. The blood settles in my stomach, warm and light.
“Try to compel him again,” you whisper.
I do and fail.
“Another,” you say, handing his wrist back to me. The man collapses on his knees, his skin pale, sweat breaking across his forehead. I drink deep and try again.
And again.
When his fear abates it’s not because of me. It’s resignation, the knowledge that he will die today. That two women overpowered him and forced him to his knees and drank him dry.
“You will forget you met us. You got too drunk at the tavern and stumbled home. You’re sick from bad cheese,” you tell him. His gaze is blank, his body crumpled on the floor. His shallow breathing is the only sign that he lives.
“You let him live?” I ask.
“This town is too small, and while he may not remember us, the others at the tavern will. This is why we journey to a large city, somewhere we cannot be found or remembered.”
I doubt very much that anyone would forget your beautiful face, but I say nothing.
You kiss me, your mouth tasting of his blood. I want to lick it from you, to replace it with mine. I want everything about him gone from you. If I could burn our clothes I would to be free of him.
I crawl into your lap, our bodies flush. You grip my thighs, your fingernails digging into my skin. I moan into you, biting my lip, flooding our mouths with my taste. My scent.
Mine mine mine.
Then I take you on the floor in front of our half-dead victim. I worship every inch of you, from your breasts to your sex. It’s the only way I can thank you for forgiving me for my failure. I know you expected more from me, to be a hunter just like you.
(“Now who is the liar?”)
So I pleasure your body and deny you mine, swallowing your screams as you orgasm. I want to show you I am a fast study, that I can learn this just as I learned your body. I failed, so I made you into my temple, because all I knew was worship.
When we finally return to the inn, the night is almost through. I am too exhausted to do more than curl on the flea-filled pallet. You move something in front of the door. You check the corners again. Then I’m in your arms, my nose pressed to your collarbone, and we sleep.