"I'm torn between wanting to drink your blood or sleep with you."
Sparkling female vampire with a zest for unlife meets seventeen-year-old boy with issues.
"I'm torn between wanting to dissect you or date you."
Explosions, cyborgs, evil therapists, mad scientists, daring young reporters, homicidal girls' soccer teams, and a very surly werewolf.
"Touché."
—
Prologue
Two gates the silent house of Sleep adorn;
Of polish'd ivory this, that of transparent horn:
True visions thro' transparent horn arise;
Thro' polished ivory pass deluding lies. - Virgil, the Aenid.
—
The girl with the pink-dyed braids and the ribbony, frilly, starchy nightdress that reached down past her ankles tried to dream.
You had to face your fears. You couldn't be a little girl all the time. Sometimes her visions went quick and sure and painless, sometimes nice as strawberry-apple pie with pink strawberry ice-cream for everyone concerned, sometimes she and her big sister giggled at all the new tricks they played with both their gifts.
She couldn't remember how all those nice desserts had used to taste, but she bet they were just lovely. A lot lovelier than rabbit blood. She always felt sorry for the little bunnies and everything else they had to eat. At least gold eyes were lots prettier than dull old black from forgetting to eat and being hungry, or nasty scarlet red, when... That wasn't nice to think about. The girl winked at herself in the dark, seeing everything as clear as if it was day. Her bare feet rested on the ground and felt all the tiny dents in the floor that looked smooth to any human eye.
She couldn't remember how it felt to sleep either, though she must have done. They probably used to make her do it a lot in that bad place her big brother—adopted, just like her big sister—had rescued her from. But the pink-white nightie was pretty. It made her feel like a little lady. She liked to remember and imagine what it was like.
Sometimes her sights told her brothers and sisters everything they needed to know, but more and more and lately and lately she'd seen black holes cropping up into the visions, like black holes spoiling flimsy cheesecloth fabric she'd ripped a little too far.
Sometimes when she tried to look too far she saw nothing, only darkness. And beyond the darkness she never saw anything else at all.
She looked ahead. Soon enough the blackness came. And then she searched and searched and searched for as long as she could, like trying to unravel a thread from a pretty costume and find where it frayed. But there was nothing to unfray. After the long night nothing would be left.
It was coming soon for her.
—
Chapter 1: Far From The Madding Crowd
The plane touched down to the tarmac, whistles and rattles everywhere. More discordant than the last time I remembered flying. There was a man squashed next to me, almost touching, thick arms like soft white bread. I could smell sweat. Like tea grounds, too closely packed together. I couldn't see anything beyond the small window. Grey fog, grey town; grey walls further away; away from her. I could say they put me, or I chose it myself. Dreams made her prey, and could have made me pray. But I can't see...
Grey grief to sew; green herb of death and sleep.
Words danced green inside my head. Iambic pentameter, now and then. They always did; I remember the things I read. I clutched the hard-edged books that were my carry-ons. I hadn't noticed the stewardess having everyone get out.
Gordon was waiting for me. He wouldn't have trusted me to go to him alone. He shouldn't have trusted me alone to go to him. Two similar phrases, different meanings. I scratched at my sleeves and the wrists below.
Once upon a time there was a terrible ogre who sought out the queen and her young son, to do violence and suck the marrow out of their bones. Or: once there was a woman who served the kingdom of science. She worked and she learned far too much of the truth, and so she had to flee. Because bad people would come after her to kill her for all she knew, and take her beloved son away from her. But nobody can kill the truth. Learn enough. Stay away from all our enemies.
Your mother is ill. She's not responsible for her state of mental health. She's been telling you all these things about your father, and they're not true. He's going to have custody of you the way he should have years ago, and everything is going to be all right. And if it's not, you'll have the counselor at your new school to talk things through.
Gordon was bulky and brawny, the first time I'd seen him since the last time in the courtrooms, and I stepped away from his tentative one-armed hug.
"Well, son. I'm glad you're here. Let's pick up your bag."
He took me in his police cruiser, the lights off. The grass was green. I stared out the window, and didn't tell him how much I hated what he'd done to my mother.
"You remember Forks? You were four the last time you were here. I've still got that swing in the backyard. Maybe we can go fishing again with Sammy Black. You used to try eating the bait."
If it weren't for the pills, I thought, I'd look over at Gordon's hands on the wheel and see the monster Mom told me about. I used to think the way I saw things made me different, special, helping out Mom by telling her what was really happening; but there was only a glitch in my brain. Rain danced on the cruiser's roof like a thousand small rabbity claws.
Gordon made several more attempts at conversation on the ride to his house, then finally I thought he'd given up. I didn't say anything. He dragged my light bag of clothes out of the trunk and unlocked his door.
"We're here," he said. "Look, Xavier." He slammed a hand down on a wood countertop. "You're my son, and this is your home. In a year you'll be eighteen, and I hope you'll stay because God knows what else there'll be for you, but then the choice will be yours. Until then, you're under my roof and in my custody. It's been a long time. I know it was twelve years. I didn't forget about you. I hired private detectives, investigators, psychics—for a while they thought you were dead, but I kept on hoping. The one thing I wanted was to see you safe, not take you away from your mother. Now you're here, I'm your father, and I'm going to do what's best for you. The social worker's report said you're bright when you want to be, so I know the problem isn't that you don't understand me. Got it?"
There was only one thing to say. Sometimes people make it cold and clear what they want to hear. "Got it, Dad," I said.
"Kitchen's here." Gordon's voice changed to something lighter. "There's not much. I pick up takeout on my way home Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday. Washing machine here. Bathroom up the top. Your old room. I had it redecorated, since the last time you were here."
He took me past a line of old photographs to get to the stairs, switching on all the lights. I recognised my mother in a white dress, a wide smile as white as her gown and her long hair loose and waving. Wedding photo. Baby photos. Two children by a pebbled beach. I only knew myself by the color of my hair, the same honey brown as Mom's and sticking out in all directions. The other boy was even smaller than I was, dark-haired in a grubby overall and scowling tremendously even for a toddler. Gordon kept more mementos than Mom could. Memento mori. Remember a dead life.
"You remember that?" Gordon said. "Fishing on the La Push reservation. That's Sam's son Monty. It used to be hard to drag you two apart. Maybe the four of us could get together again..."
"I was four, Dad," I said. I didn't remember a thing. "I'm tired. I want to sleep before the new school."
"Sure. Fine." I avoided Gordon's touch again. "See you in the morning."
—
A/N: This story is loosely based on Twilight with occasional genderbending, characters exported from the game Baldur's Gate, but I hope it's understandable without knowledge of that canon. A male Bella with issues, a female Edward with a zest for unlife, a very surly werewolf, a universe spun half a degree aside, and an author who's trying not to take it in any way seriously.
For those who do know Baldur's Gate, which character is the human sociopath obsessed with the undead, and which character is the most important vampire? :D
Disclaimer: Twilight is not mine and neither are Baldur's Gate characters. Apologies may be necessary toward real people who live in Forks.
Thanks to pre-readers LttP, Writersblock164, and Scarabbug.
Green herb &c. quotes from Swinburne.