87

Katherine didn't have anything to do yet that evening. It was a lazy evening, one where the warmth of the day was only just easing off but lingering enough so that Katherine could leave the bathroom door open while she bathed stretching out her long slender legs and singing to herself. She was a singular woman with fair skin made pale from every day since her late teenagehood spent indoors. Her voice was deep and sweet, but powerful enough that she could make it sound sharp and authoritative when she needed to. Eyes cold and blue and too old for such a young face would regard the world, framed on either side by rich warm black hair that spilled over slight shoulders and delicate shoulder blades. Despite her young appearance, her features were hard enough that she could fein a few more years than first assumed, and her confidence and practised manner only made this easier. Dextrous and graceful hands groped for a vast fluffy towel as she slid out of the expansive bathtub, the spoils of the decadent middle class of the 2070's.

"Supper is ready, ma'am!" A charming british voice called from downstairs in the kitchen, the latest addition to her household. Robotics had come leaps and bounds since the clumsy early attempts in the 2010's. Gone were the stilted simulated speech patterns and bulky appendages - her own Mr. Handy was graceful, it's forey of limbs clicking and whirring over the kitchen stove or the living room floorboard, and it's own voice was only just a shade off of real human tone. She was still humming as she greeting her household companion with a nod and a small smile that softened her eyes, having donned a thick dressing gown.

"Good evening Edward," she said. The tin globe seemed to wiggle with pleasure at her recognition and before she had even taken her seat at the small dining table, he had served up her plate; fresh chicken breast and chargrilled vegetables in a light creamy sauce. It was almost too much, but she didn't know enough about Edwards programming to alter his cooking directives, and any orders she tried to give him to take it down a notch in terms of the richness of her food - especially after she had just woken up - were met with cries of "nonsense, ma'am!" and "it's all the rage in France!". What she wouldn't give for her mother's shepherd pie. But that was long ago and far away and she started on her food before nostalgia could get it's persuasive claws in her morning mood, while using her other hand to drag this evenings newspaper towards her over the table.

"You're expecting a visitor ma'am," Edward informed her, already bustling off back to the kitchen to clean up.

"Who?" she called after him, not looking up from the paper, fork halfway between the plate and her mouth, hair still damp from her bath.

"Mrs Samantha Bates. She wishes to purchase tutelage for her daughter, Jennifer."

"English or history? What grade?"

"English. The girl is preparing for her final examinations at Concord-Carlisle." The were a soft hum as he - she couldn't help thinking of it as a 'he' - floated close to the table again to deposit a cup of coffee; the first of the day.

"You told her to come by later this evening to book the first session?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good," she took a forkful of food. "Thank you. Anything else?"

"You have a letter from Madam Nneka, Ma'am."

Her eyes lit up and she held her hand out, her coffee already forgotten. He produced the envelope and she slit it open along the side with the sharp nail of her index finger, shaking it open and reading it with rapt attention, eating robotically, her entire focus taken up by her friends correspondence.

Dearest Katherine

Once again my thoughts turn to you. How are you? How are the nights treating you? I am so glad that you have returned to teaching. That's wonderful news! I always knew that you were born for education. I remember your passion all those years ago when you left me for the first time. You and I were so eager to change the world in our own ways - though you needed a little pushing in the right direction, if I am remembering correctly! So much has changed since then. You and I both remember the days when my people would not have been able to even live on the same street as yours, but here we are, finally integrated - with a few exceptions, but even these enclaves are breaking down. Not fast enough, but it's happening.

Let's not dwell on that. We've had this conversation so many times before I can almost write your reply for you! We have to look forward, not retrace our steps yet again. I am well, and my new occupation at the District of Columbia Public Library allows me much time to read and more than a few opportunities to sneak in some more progressive literature. So many children come through, even late at night when my shift starts, cramming for their respective exams. It tickles me to give them advice on the history of our nation, seeing their confused faces. "How can you know all that?" they ask me. "It's like you were there!" I like to imagine that you find that as funny as I do. The real joy are those who come hungry for knowledge. I have had to stop myself spending all my time pouring over the books when I should be managing my staff.

How is Massachusetts? How does it feel to be home again? Although I don't know if it would still feel like home. It's hardly the old farmstead that it used to be, even when we were still living there together.

Do reply soon, my love. I can't wait to hear from you!

Yours, now and always -

Nneka

P.S. I didn't want to include this in the main body of my letter because I honestly hoped not to have to write this down at all, but I simply must inform you of the situation. I am writing this sometime after I finished the letter above on the 25th of July. News have reached me of Azazel. His name has crept up among my network of nightwalkers and friends of ours. He's making moves to gain political power in the South-West. I will keep you up to date. Do not act and I beg you to stay where you are.

You are strong enough. I know it.

Katherine rushed through the letter, already forming a response in her mind, but by the time she got to the postscript, her eyes started to slow down. She had to read it twice, and the joy she had first felt to hear from her friend froze in her chest, leaving her ice cold. A kind of dread that she thought she had forgotten rise up in her throat like bile. She felt the blood drain from her face, but even as her hands began to tremble, she focused in on the last paragraph.

You are strong enough. I know it.

She had survived all this time, after all, hadn't she? As if it were becoming unstuck, she let out the breath that she had been holding, exhaling the anxiety that had been buzzing in her mind. She wasn't going to let this news leave her unable to function. Yes, it was a shock. Yes, she had believed (or rather she had hoped) that he was dead. But she had known, really, that as she had yet to see his cold dead body, the ugly business between them was not over. She would carry on. She always did. Only if he stepped back over the line into her life, would she give him a second thought.

"Edward, fetch my stationary. I would like to write my reply."

"Ma'am? Are you alright?" He had been watching her with his large glowing eye, twisting with his own anxiety as her face grew paperwhite and she abandoned her supper entirely. He seemed to jump a little when she addressed him in such a frigid tone, clicking his implements nervily.

She tried to relax, to soften her features and bring her facial expression under control. "Yes, Edward, I'm fine. Now fetch my pens and writing paper."

"Yes ma'am."

XXX

By half past eight o'clock that evening, Katherine was feeling steadier. Taking the anxiety from her heart and laying it out onto the paper - something she would do only for Nneka - seemed to mute it. When the doorbell rang at twenty-to-nine, she had dressed in a smart but unthreatening blouse and a skirt that fluttered just below the knee and thick black stockings, as well as disciplining her hair in a fashionable bun behind her head. Mrs Bates was an uptight looking woman of around forty or forty-five years old and a face that seemed too smooth for her age, lacking even laughter lines. Her hair arranged in perfect hollywood curls and her teeth were gleaming behind wide, professional lips. Katherine shook her hand.

"Good evening Mrs. Bates."

"Good evening, Miss… Markoff?"

"Markov. My family immigrated here before I was born," Katherine said by way of an explanation.

"I see."

"Is your daughter with you?"

"Yes, she's waiting in the car."

Katherine took this opportunity to look over Mrs. Bates shoulder to see the sleek pale blue automobile parked up against the pavement behind her. A young woman sat in the passenger seat looking straight ahead. Even at this distance, Katherine could see the expression on the girl's face, indifference on the surface, but a fair bit of irritation bubbling beneath, causing the lip to curl, the brow to frown. "Why don't you bring her in and we can discuss what stage she's at in her education and what kind of tutelage I can offer her?"

"Will this take long?" Mrs. Bates only just managed to keep the question on the right side of politeness.

"I apologise for the lateness of the hour," she said. "I have a skin condition that makes it impossible for me to operate in daylight hours. I'm sure you understand, and I am more than grateful for your indulgence." The lie slipped off her tongue with the ease that came from years of practise

This seemed to satisfy Mrs. Bates, and she turned to beckon her daughter out of the car with a silent harried gesture. It seemed that Miss Bates was pointedly ignoring her mother until the last possible moment before dragging herself out of the car, shutting the door perhaps a little too hard. Katherine stepped aside to let them both in and caught a curt whisper between them that would have normally been too low to hear.

"Jennifer, at least try!"

"Yes, mother."

Katherine had enough discretion to pretend not to notice. This was not out of the ordinary in her line of work. It was already coming up August, long after final exams in June, but not too late for resits in September. Jenny Bates was in her final year, according to Edward, so her mother was likely bringing her in her a last ditch attempt to pass the one class that would get her into this or that college, or possibly just to squeeze by enough to get a high school diploma.

She followed them through to the sitting room and offered them a seat on the sofa, while she sat opposite them in her favourite armchair, crossing her legs and leaning forward. She opened her mouth to introduce herself to her prospective pupil, but Mrs. Bates spoke first.

"Jennifer has failed her final English exam. I was able to convince her teachers to allow her to re-sit next month and we need to make sure that she get's a pass this time."

"That's what I'm here for. Was there any particular part of the exam that you found difficult, Jennifer?" She smiled at her, opening her hands in an invitation to join the conversation. Jennifer inhaled, but Mrs. Bates cut in.

"It's the critical analysis that she has trouble with. Her teachers tell me that she can't focus on the content of the lessons and that her essays go off on wild tangents. Her final essay didn't reflect the content of material given to her by her teacher and she didn't answer the exam question."

"I see," Katherine said, regarding Jennifer. "Is that right Miss Bates? Can I call you Jennifer?"

It was a mark of the kind of relationship that the two of them had that Jennifer waited a beat or two to see if her mother would speak first before saying; "Yes, Jenny's fine." Her face remained completely composed just like her mother's, a careful expression of gentle contrition and polite nervousness. "And it's just like my mother said. My final essay did not reflect the content of the material we were given in class."

Katherine couldn't be certain, but she thought she might have caught a hint of strain in the young woman's voice, as if this was a sentence she had had to repeat many times but that she didn't really believe. "Ok," she said. "I can certainly prepare you for your resit, Jenny. I've been tutoring for a while, and I'm sure we will be able to find a learning method that is right for you." She smiled.

"How often will you be able to see her?" Mrs. Bates asked.

"Twice, three times a week maybe. In the evenings, of course, 7pm until 9pm. It all depends on what's convenient for the both of you. Did Edward explain how much I charge?"

"Yes, he did. I think two nights a week would be best. Wednesday and Friday?"

"That sounds fine. I look forward to it."

Mrs. Bates stood up to leave, followed by her daughter, who looked very pleased to be heading home. It had hardly been worth inviting them inside. When Katherine was alone again, she called for her butler. "Edward, I'm going out. Expect me to return in an hour or so."

XXX

Every two weeks or so, give or take three or four days, Katherine took the short walk to Sanctuary Hills by moonlight to perform what Nneka called 'self-medication'. Nneka had all sorts of discrete, tasteful euphemisms for their 'condition', something that Katherine had teased her about in the past.

You make it sound like an illness, she would scoff.

Well, it's not normal

It's normal. It's just not usual.

It was a subject that they had disagreed on in the past, once so profoundly that they hadn't spoken to each other for years before Katherine had finally reached out to apologise and remake their connection. Katherine saw their differences as something valuable, valid, something to be respected, that had it's place and deserved to be. Nneka on the other hand… Well, it affected her in more adverse ways than Katherine. It was a very isolating existence. Past persecution demanded secrecy and one could not form long lasting friendships based on lies, even lies of omision. Seeking other individuals like themselves had brought diminishing returns as the world caught up with it's modernity. Perhaps, Nneka reasoned, their kind just wasn't supposed to be a part of a world with fusion powered cars and electronic communication. But why? What was it about this time and place that was so unsuitable for them? She had said the same when factories sprung up across the country and the world started to keep time by the clock and not the sun in the sky, and then again when they had spoken over the telephone for the first time and then again when computer terminals become a semi-normal part of the middle class home. No, that argument meant nothing to Katherine. As far as she was concerned, there was nothing the world could throw at them that they were not designed to adapt to.

When she had met Nneka, they had both been pushing for socio-political changes on the either side of a divide. Being restricted to a nocturnal life endlessly frustrated the latter, who wished to attend rallies, meet with key figures and attend debates. She had always been a far more social creature than Katherine, who could go weeks at a time without speaking to anyone, and who had always been content with only one or two close friends. Furthermore, she found this business of 'self-medicating' to be too close to another kind of slavery for it to ever be ethically viable in her eyes. It was stealing to her, using human beings' bodies without their consent, an issue that would never be settled between them. Katherine reasoned that it was a mutually beneficial evolutionary co-incidence. The crocodile doesn't eat the birds that pick the insects from their teeth and scales, and some parasites lived on humans and animals alike their entire lifespans without doing harm, and without the knowledge of the host. This was just another example in the animal kingdom where one species behavior is unknowingly convenience for another. Humans provided the means for them to go on living, while they silently protected, respected and enabled humans in the wings.

As with everything else, Nneka disliked the terminology that had become increasingly popular among both their kind and the humans that didn't know they existed. 'Vampire' was tasteless, and put her in mind of cartoon villains and outlandish pulp fiction. Katherine, on the other hand, figured that if the shoe fits…

She took blood from a sleeping man in one of the identical little detached bungalows. No one locked their doors in this kind of neighbourhood and she could creep in and take what she needed without waking anyone. It was harmless, and at worst the gentleman would wake up with a small scratch on his neck just below the jaw that he could conclude must be self-inflicted. It was nothing to the humans she fed from, but to her, it was the difference between immortality and terminal rapid aging that would see her a withered corpse in three or four months. If it was a violation, like Nneka insisted it was, it was such a small crime in exchange for their continued health that Katherine concluded that it was negligible.

Katherine had been born the January of 1763, and was three hundred and fourteen years old by this point in 2077.