Arc 2: In Memoriam (Part 4)

I don’t remember it raining so much on my first night as a vampire, but I do remember the ground being soggy when I first climbed out of my grave, so it must be about to stop in the next few hours. We didn’t have enough time to go hunting the first time around, so Canus had taken me out the following night, when I’d been almost insensate with thirst. Canus had kept me bound under tight orders, so I only have the most basic impressions of the exclusive club that we’d gone to. It’d been the type of club where people watched performers dance rather than participated in such activities.

It doesn’t seem like we’re headed there now, however. Outside the tinted windows of the car, the streets of Soho are alight with neon signs whose colours bleed into one another in rain. We come to a stop at a car park that’s packed with glossy vehicles with expensive labels I don’t care enough to pay much attention to.

‘You’ll want to stop breathing, Favilla,’ Canus says as he shuts the car down.

I obey. The implied order is familiar, but its tentative delivery is not. Scintilla doesn’t seem to find much amiss with it, however, and she grabs hold of my hand as we make the short walk to an out-of-the-way jazz club that seems to cater to a rather eclectic selection of patrons.

I don’t remember having ever entered, though I do recall walking past it on occasion. Its ambience is pleasant in a deliberately hipster sort of way, and nobody pays us much attention as we enter as a group and Canus points Scintilla and me towards an empty corner booth. Canus leaves us to head to the bar, ordering a round of drinks. He carries a whisky and a pair of cocktails back to our table, the latter two looking lurid in contrast with his sober apparel.

‘You seem to remember more about our world than Scintilla did, Favilla,’ he murmurs. It’s so quiet that it takes Scintilla a moment to process, but I catch it all and nod cautiously in response. He smiles faintly and pretends to take a sip of his drink. His voice still so low as to be inaudible to humans, he says, ‘Tell me, then. What’s the first law of our kind?’

My answer is almost as quiet as Canus’s question: ‘Don’t let them know.’

‘Very good,’ he says. It’s strange. I don’t really remember him being so warm with me the first time around. He turns to Scintilla, ‘What are the exceptions to this law?’

‘Thralls, Sire. And any humans who have supernatural abilities, like magic users and hunters.’ Scintilla’s voice isn’t as quiet as mine, and I want to hit myself for it—so young as I am, I shouldn’t have so much control over my voice yet.

If Canus notices, he doesn’t comment on it. He nods instead, adding, ‘This isn’t a great difficulty for most of our kind, but it often poses a challenge to the vampires of our bloodline. Historically, many of us liked to keep servants without enthralling them. The reason for this stems from an affliction that manifests within our bloodline, one that limits our potential sources for sustenance.

‘All mortal blood will appeal to our external senses as much as it does to others of our kind, but most will be at best unpleasant to imbibe and at worst poisonous to ingest. The factors differentiating a good source from a bad one differs from vampire to vampire, and many of our predecessors liked to keep a collection of good sources for the sake of convenience. This practice is now forbidden, of course, so we are forced to hunt.’

The speech is practically identical to the one he gave me the first time around, and, while it makes perfect sense to me now, I also understand that it’s meant to raise certain questions for the uninitiated.

‘How are we supposed to hunt, then?’ I whisper.

‘Historically? Trial and error. However, my father has since developed a less risky method to help the newborn vampires of our bloodline.’

Scintilla shifts in excitement.

Canus nods at her. ‘As Scintilla might say, it’s a magical spell—a sorcerous working, to be more precise. Scintilla? Would you like to try on your own this time?’

Her eyes widen, and she shifts anxiously, but she nods eagerly enough after a brief moment of consideration. She turns her back on the rest of the club, hiding her face as she carefully nips open her index finger. A bead of dark blood wells at the swell of her fingertip, and she presses it to the white expanse of her sclera. The crimson spreads rapidly, fading to scarlet, then pink, before disappearing altogether. She repeats the process to her other eye, then stares into the distance for a moment.

‘Call to the power within your blood,’ Canus reminds her.

Scintilla’s stare becomes even more intent. Eventually, there’s a strange sort of flash, and she jerks back, holding her hands to her eyes and face scrunching in a grimace.

‘That’s alright,’ Canus says. ‘It takes a while to get the hang of it. Come here, I’ll do it for you.’ Canus pricks his finger on a penknife and repeats the working for Scintilla. Then, he has me switch places with Scintilla.

The first time this happened, I’d been so scared that Canus had needed to command me to remain still and unblinking. I’d hated him a little, then, and some part of me expected to feel the same about the experience this time around. As his arm draws around me, however, I feel nothing but calmness and safety.

His arm is solid around my shoulders, and the taste of his blood on the air is tantalising. I take the most discreet sniff I can, relishing the faint fragrance of his blood that stands out so starkly against a background of alcohol, sugar, and mortal blood.

‘Ready?’ he asks.

I’m not ready, but I manage to turn the sentiment into a shrug instead of a shake of my head. I don’t want him to subdue me with commands for stillness again. The bead of blood welling at his fingertip is so dark that it looks black in the cool light of the club. His other hand is in my hair, holding my head steady as his bloodied finger approaches.

It’s more intimate than it was the last time around, but I suspect the difference is in the lack of commands rendering me stiff and helpless to Canus’s touch. That, and I think I trust him more this time. I can’t smell his blood without remembering the taste of it as he gave his life for me. It had been so heady upon my tongue and smooth as it slid down my throat. I haven’t even had much time to process it. For all that an incalculable amount of time has passed since that day we both died, it feels to me like barely four hours have passed since then.

Canus sacrificed himself for me. It’s unthinkable. Inconceivable. Except it happened. I drank him dry and felt his heart fall to dust within my very palms.

Such an exchange engenders trust, I suppose.

There is a slight sting as the blood comes into contact with my eyes, but I blink it quickly away. The process repeats with my other eye, and before long, my vision flashes. When I open them again, the entire club has changed, fallen into a strange haze of darkness.

Canus returns to his lecture mode: ‘This will allow you to see the degree to which a source of blood is viable. The greater the glow, the better the human will serve as sustenance. Depending on the strength of the sorcery used and the weakness of the vampire observed, it might even work on fellow immortals.

‘Be careful of using it as a crutch, however. The sorcery takes a lot of energy and focus, so you’re better off spending your first hunts determining the rules that govern your curse. You’ll manage to get a feel for your type, eventually, and then you’ll be able to hunt more normally.’

I glance around the club. A good half of the mortals here are shadowed, with some of them here and there looking practically like black holes in my sorcery-enhanced vision. Two dozen or so emit a weak glow—these would be the ones that I could theoretically try to drink from, for all that I wouldn’t at all enjoy the process. Only a handful shine with a halo of light strong enough to illuminate their features.

‘How many do you have?’ Scintilla asks.

‘Four—no, five,’ I say. It’s more than I expected, honestly. I’ve never had much luck hunting in establishments like these, though I suppose a jazz club is more likely to attract innocents than other late-night venues.

‘That’s not too bad,’ Scintilla says. ‘I’ve got eight, I think.’

I look around, slightly surprised. There’s probably almost a hundred people here. Usually Scintilla has a good third of the population to choose from. Then I look at her and remember; this Scintilla hasn’t perfected the art of attracting and holding everyone’s attention yet.

‘Let’s see if you can’t figure out your own approach tonight, Scintilla,’ Canus says. ‘But since it’s your first night, Favilla, I’ll help you. Tell me who out of everyone here glows the brightest.’