Being the competent young woman and big sister I am, I fully intended to parlay with the vampire. Provided I could find him, anyway. Logically, I should check the place I last saw him. Funny how that principle rarely works when I need it to (like missing homework), yet works perfectly when I least want it (like seeking to talk terms with the blood sucking undead).
I drove to the abandoned stage where we saw the Cirque, and lo and behold, there the vampire was, standing on the stage like he was expecting me. I imagine that he was.
"Why are you here?" his haughty voice carries with the same ease as during his performance.
"The same reason as you, I imagine," I reply, having no illusions. Steeling myself, I walk down the aisle of threadbare, dusty carpet that I had crossed not six hours ago, watching him closely, even as he watches me. That same gaze that picked me out of an audience is now locked on me again, and my flush battles with my nervous palor.
"How am I to know your thoughts?" he asks with a smirk. "For all I know, you're a psychotic fan seeking a lock of my hair."
"Don't mock me," I snap. I ascend the steps to the stage, and suddenly, we can fully see each other. "We both know why I'm here."
He is spookier up close: pale skin, flaming hair, scarred cheek, flashing seagreen eyes, quick movements, predatory bearing. My subconscious keeps screaming at me, warning me this man - vampire - could kill me without a second thought. This was a horrible idea, and I have a gut-deep feeling it's going to end badly.
"Madam Octa does not take kindly to strangers," says the vampire, dropping the facade and darting closer to peer at me neutrally. His voice is now bereft of the showmanship of earlier in the night, and in its place is cold condescension. "I figured you would come back, when that became apparent." His speech is a bizzarre mix of ancient and uneducated.
"Larten Crepsley, was it?" I ask, my timidity showing at his sudden advance.
He fast tracks to the other side of the stage, keeping me anxious, on my toes. "You may call me Mr. Crepsley. Mister, always."
I may live in the fine ol' South, but the audacity of having my brother's soon-to-be-killer insisting on honorifics rankles me. So on my lips he'll be Mister, but in my rebellious mind he'll be Crepsley. "My brother got bit by Madam Octa - "
The vampire tuts, a mockery of sympathy that tests my restraint.
"And I was wondering if you had an antidote."
"I do," he responds, reaching into a inner coat pocket and retrieving a vial of liquid.
My heart soars. Thank God! Now, to get it to my brother. "I need it. Darren is going to die without it."
When Crepsley speaks, it is as one who sees the world in a stark black-and-white color scheme. In a way, I envy that monochromatic arrangement of life. Being certain about anything is rare, at this volatile stage of my life. "Everything has a price," he says factually.
As a prelude to the wave of shock and paleness, I half-laugh. Here we go: the part I was afraid of. "And what is yours?"
Crepsley smiles then, and it makes me incredibly nervous. "A life for a life is the bargain."
"You want to kill me?" I cry. "Just straight-up kill me?" What a wretched deal! Dear God, I had not expected that!
"A living sacrifice, I believe the Christians call it," chuckles Crepsley. "A life of servitude, in exchange for saving your brother from death. You will become a half-vampire, and travel with me as my assistant in the Cirque."
I gape at him, my mind a blinding whirl for several long moments. My knee-jerk reaction is the most obvious one: I don't want to become a vampire, half or not. I don't want to leave my family, my life.
"And you're not open to negotiation?" I whisper, the heavy curtains of the stage dampening the words even further. I have to be sure.
"A life for a life," he confirms stoicly.
"There's nothing you would rather have?" I ask, mustering a smile that falls short of appealing. Female counts for something, right?
His mouth quirks. "Nothing."
I stare at the scuffed wooden floor of the stage, and make up my mind. My brother's life is worth it. I love him dearly, too dearly to let him slip from this world. Moments ago I envied the vampire of his black-and-white outlook. Now, I wish I had my shades of gray back. "I'll do it," I whisper, almost inaudibly.
"Louder," commands the vampire, a partial growl.
I jerk my head up, eyes flashing. "I'll become a half-vampire!"
His countenance seems to both darken and lighten then, equal parts bad news for me and enjoyment for him. "Very good." He takes a step towards me, and my gut clenches in terror, one hand flying to my throat as I take a step back.
"What are you, scared?" he mocks me, continuing to walk towards me. "I'm not going to bite your jugular: I could kill you that way. Then what good would you be?"
I force myself to stay rooted, then, because he made the mistake of accusing me of fear. I may be scared, but I will not back down from a challenge. His steps are measured, testing my resolve. He draws closer, his long jacket flaring until he is standing right over me, looking down into my eyes.
I keep smelling a sharp metallic scent on him that makes me shiver, and I recognize it as iron. I am smelling blood on him. "In exchange for this," I seek clarification, shocking myself at my own boldness. "My brother stays safe, alive, and 100% human." My second year of law school warns me against leaving any loopholes for this shifty redheaded character of the night to exploit.
"Safe, alive, and 100% human," he replies with a smile that I have no choice but to trust. "What is your name?" he asks.
I am thrown by his question. "Adrienne," I reply after a hesitation. "Adrienne Star."
His mouth quirks again. "Different last name than your brother?"
"I'm adopted." Don't ask how he knows our last names: it doesn't matter.
His eyes flicker into momentary softness. I don't need his pity. "Do you want to know more about vampirism before you take the plunge?"
"It makes no difference," I reply heavily. "My answer is the same. I have to save my brother. I have to." No consequence of this action could dissuade me. Darren's life eclipses every sacrifice.
He seems to like the response, but I am not sure why. "After this, I will explain more. Give me your hands."
I manage to control the shaking of my hands as I raise them palms-up between us. His seagreen eyes spark at my obedience, and quick as a flash, before I can react, he nicks one palm with his sharp fingernail. I gasp and flinch belatedly, but the laden fingernail has already been tasted. He pauses in contemplation, looking at me as though a question is on his lips, then seems to shake the impulse to ask it. "Your blood is good, untainted. We may proceed."
He puts a bit of distance between us, and I can breathe again. "Hold up your hands like this." He demonstrates with his palms towards me.
Losing a little control of my shaking, I mirror his pose. From the forest of fingers between us, he continues factually, "We are going to exchange blood. Are you - ?"
"Don't ask me that," I reply curtly, glaring. He knows full well that I am not on board with this. I'm doing it for my brother, nothing else. I know from Folklore 101 that I'm going to lose a piece of myself to this man, this monster. I know that I am leaving my old life behind me, but I also know it will be completely worth it to see my brother walk out of that hospital.
With that same lightning quickness, his filed fingernails lash out to prick all of my fingertips at the same time. I gasp a little more loudly this time, and cradle my abused fingertips while he systematically pricks each of his own. Taking my wrists briskly (I flush again, despite all), he returns them to their upraised position. Then, he applies his little cuts to mine. I can feel a sluggish, chilly sensation entering my left hand and my own blood moving out of my right, into him. It is weird, and more than a little sickening.
"This may hurt when it gets to your heart," he warns, sounding somewhat chagrinned.
I don't buy the chagrin, but the pain is real enough. My heart begins to pound insanely fast, like it's trying to fit a lifetime of beats into a few seconds. If that weren't disconcerting enough, it pulses and squeezes sharply, like a dagger just buried itself in my chest. I cry out softly, pitching to the floor. Clutching the offending breast, I rock back and forth on my knees, gritting my teeth, mentally begging the organ to stop hurting.
I get my wish.
I untangle my hands from my shirt, blinking back sudden tears, and rise shakily. Crepsley does not aid me to my feet. "I feel...strange," I marvel, looking down at myself. My skin feels like a fission reaction has gone off under it, crawling and cooling like a dwarf star's death.
"More will come in time," the vampire assures. "Especially when you drink blood."
Suddenly, my arm catches both our eyes at the same time. Thin black tendrils are snaking their way up my hand and forearm from the little incisions. "Is that supposed to happen?" I ask in mild alarm. The other limb is doing the same thing.
He takes my hand and studies it, brow knit. "No. It is not."
What follows puts the heart pains to shame. Of its own accord, my entire body locks and I fall heavily to the floor. My spine arches to the point of snapping, and I scrabble the air with stiff fingers, my mouth frozen in an O of incredible pain. My voice is caught in my throat, or I would be screaming to high heavens. Oh my God, I've never been in this much pain before in my life! The pain is excruciating, exquisite, every flaming lick under my skin like hot pokers, melting needles, acid. My nerves are trying to claw their way out of my skin, hot wires wrapped around my bones.
"What the hell!" barks Crepsley, sounding worried. If the vampire is worried, then so am I.
I pay him little heed, as my vision is rapidly darkening, but I feel him turn me onto my back and cup my face with a cold hand. I don't know how many minutes this wracking agony goes on because I black out for several. When I come too, my body is limp where it had been rock-hard tense, and the pain is ebbing rapidly. I take a shuddering breath as it exits my body completely, allowing me to rise from the depths of unconsciousness. I open my eyes and find Crepsley staring at me, lightly slapping a palm against my cheek. Well, lightly for a vampire: pretty hard, for a human.
"What was that?" I croak, momentarily too tired to care that the bastard is touching me. I feel both warm and cold: energized, yet like the world moves slower around me. Every touch is sensitized, and I could swear my vision is clearer.
"Do you honestly want to know?" he replies obscurely.
I feel my ire coming back to me in a flood. "No, I asked to hear my own voice," I snark. I find it in me to sit upright, dislodging his hands, and clamber to my feet as he does, albeit more unsteadily.
"I imagine your body had an unpleasant reaction due to your unwillingness." He sounds accusatory, like it's completely my fault.
"I can't fathom why," I snort sullenly.
"Or it might be because you are female. Everyone's change is a little different," he goes on. "Another reason you need a firm, guiding hand."
Taking mental record of myself, I note the newfound bounciness in my limbs, the ever-so-slight lightening of my skin. The motes of dust in the air distract me from calling him on the 'guiding hand' comment.
"The blood still took: I heard your heart. And," he pauses, leans into my personal space, and sniffs. "You smell different. Our agreement stands."
I grind my teeth, but I know he is right. For now, I'll play along. I nod. "When we have the time, Mr. Crepsley," I say, eyeing him sharply. "You have some 'splaining to do."
Crepsley's mouth quirks, and his seagreen eyes flicker as he takes my dare. "Yes." He swirls his long jacket back onto his shoulders. "Now get on my back. We're going to flit to the hospital."
Oh, hell, no. "Flit?" I choke out, by way of stalling.
"You saw how I entered in my Cirque act. Flitting is vampire speed."
"No way. Not a chance in hell," I say firmly. "I drove here. I can't leave my car in this neighborhood!"
"Your car will be fine," he insists with a longsuffering sigh. "And by my estimation, your brother has little time before Madam Octa's venom claims him."
That puts things in perspective. "Fine."
"Get on my back," he repeats, a little harder.
"Excuse me?" Can you say: inappropriate contact?
"I'm going to flit, so I need to carry you. Get on. My back." He turns his back to me expectantly.
Still I hesitate for various reasons. I'm athletic, so my 5'9" frame is wrapped with muscle from swimming in highschool and heavy volunteer farm work for community service hours in college. I'm not light. Crepsley's only about four inches taller than me, and maybe eighty pounds heavier. I am in no mood to compound my problems today with knocking him to the ground with my weight.
He's a stranger. He's going to take me away from everything I know and love. Crepsley's held my brother's life over my head like a scoundrel, and the monster did it without qualm or remorse. I hate him.
I don't want to get on his damn back.
He straightens tensely, whips around, and glowers into my face ferociously. "If you don't get on my back right now, Adrienne, your first lesson from me will be in obedience. It will consist of putting you over my knee."
My eyes must go wide as saucers, then. The first time he uses my name is to threaten me with a spanking? Seriously? What is he, Fifty Shades? Aside from having only been spanked four times as a child, I'm twenty years old now! My pride couldn't take those hard, razor-tipped hands any more than my butt could. Fear usurps anger for the moment, and I remember every second we waste is one Darren may not have. I duck my head and nod, the picture of meekness.
He turns around again. Putting my hands on his dipped shoulders, I bounce and wrap my legs around him, which he catches me behind the knees with startling ease. "You're strong," I observe with surprise, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, not over them. Even though I would love to wrap them around his neck, choke him out, and steal the vial of antidote, I imagine that to be beyond my capacity for violence. At the moment. I don't like that this monster gets a full feel of 'the goods', but what options do I have?
"So will you be," he replies, adjusting. "When you start to feed."
"Feed?" I echo.
He doesn't answer; instead, digs in his feet, tenses all his muscles, and we go flying forward. The world is a stupendous blur of lights and partial shapes, and my breath is ripped from my lungs. We dash to the outside of the theater housing the stage, turn towards East Street, and flit again.
Although the speed with which we move hinders my observations, I note that the wee hours of the morning are much different that those before midnight. The night tastes different than when I first entered the run-down theater. The pools of light from flickering street lamps feel like wane forays into the darkness, like frontiersmen pushing the boundaries of civilization. The stars are few and far above the city, but the strongest ones glimmer in the velvety black sky. A well-rounded moon hovers in midflight over us, pressing down on the darkness like creamer in coffee before stirring.
We don't stop untill we've crossed a few dozen blocks and many miles of city, halting on a blank side of the hospital without lights, parking lots, or people. Crepsley drops my legs almost before we've stopped and I slide, or rather, slither, to the ground. My stomach has taken residence in my mouth for the moment, and I have to mentally chant Don't throw up until I am sure I am safe.
"Didn't I tell you to hold your breath?" the vampire asks me with a hint of mischevious glee. "Sorry."
"Asshole," I pant, straightening.
"Perhaps," he admits with a wicked grin. "Get on my back again. We're going to climb to your brother's room."
This time, I swallow my inhibitions and do as bade. Darren has little time left. I've read enough Bram Stoker to guess what Crepsley means, anyway. Time to earn my nickname: Adrenaline.
A minute later, I'm stuck to his back like a tick while he uses his fingersnails - and toenails! - to scale the sheer brick wall to the lighted window.
"Will I be able to do this?" I ask him, softer than usual due to the proximity of my mouth to his ear.
"Eventually," he says, almost without evidence of his effort. As a shadow crosses the curtained window directly to our left, he flattens slightly and falls silent. I hold my breath, praying the window won't open. When the shadow moves on, so does Crepsley.
"Try not to look down," he warns, but it sounds like a goad. He's noticed my extremely tight hold, both in arms and legs.
"I won't look down," I mutter to myself. "I won't look down, I won't look..."
"You're looking, aren't you?"
I am. I respond by tightening my grip sharply, burying my face in his back as terror strikes my heart. "Sweet Jesus, that's a long-ass fall."
Suddenly, he makes an odd groaning sound, ducking his head and making the jacket under my face shift over his trembling muscles. "What are you doing back there?" he asks in a pained way.
Just before I form the words 'Doing what?', I raise my head, and my voice dies. There are ethereal, gossamer strands floating between us, like tendrils of fog thinning and reforming. They exist wherever there is contact between us, regardless of clothes.
"Holy...! Do you see that?" I ask with mixed fear and wonder. "What is that?"
The vampire doesn't answer. Crepsley's muscles under my body are growing slack, and his eyelids are fluttering down. One foot loses its hold in the wall, and I stifle a loud squeal as we jolt lower several inches. "Crepsley!"
The vampire grunts, shaking his wild head. "I feel weak..."
"Get it together, vampire, or we're both going down!" I snap fearfully. And a long way down it is.
I am a newly turned half-vampire. I am scared, four stories off the ground, and way out of my league with this entire course of my life. My 'rockclimbing buddy' is fixing to eat the ground, and take me with him. I do what any normal person would do: I reach around to my courier's face and give him a resounding slap.
That does the trick: coming out the stupor, Crepsley snarls in effort, digging in the free foot. I feel his back muscles twitching, as though trying to wake up. Winding up again, I throw my terror into one more hard slap to the side of Crepsley's face. Kind of serves him right for slapping me awake, really.
With a shiver and low grumble the strands of light dissipate, and he's back. Now he's firing on all cylinders, and he's pissed.
"What the hell was that?" he growls menacingly at me over his shoulder, seagreen eyes flashing.
"I - " I stutter and fail. What do I say? I saw foggy light wrap itself around us like scarves, and now it's gone? "You were about to lose your grip - "
"Child, I lost my footing for a split second, and you take that as an opportunity to slap me?"
Now I'm sort of scared for my life in a different way, and more than a little confused. "I really thought - "
"You were wrong," he cuts me off.
So he didn't see the ethereal tendrils. I have no way of proving my side, so I just let it slide, chocking it up to being a 'vampire thing' that Folklore 101 didn't cover. Plus, it might be a good idea for him to know I have no issues with hitting him.
Whatever. Bigger fish to fry.