The dimly lit, poorly-furnished coffee bar had but two people in it: a young lady consumed in a conversation typing away in the corner and a youthful looking boy mopping the floors on the left side of the room. Since my escort seemed uncertain, I choose a computer closest to the door. I sat down gently so not to break the plastic barstool. The world wide net had gotten about 800 times slower since I last used it. It was overly frustrating. In my anger I had cracked a few keys on the key board. Demetri stood with his arms crossed at a distance, half way out the door, as it the computer was the black plague itself. I could tell he did not like that I was so sure of what I was doing, while he remained ignorant. He impatiently tapped his foot while I surfed, keeping his gaze toward window so to hide his red eyes. I smiled as I found what I wanted. Volterra was home to 11,734 people, surly they had to have what I was looking for. I leafed through links and browsed over virtual maps. And then boom-right there on Google maps I found it. I scratched down the address and locations mentally in my mind, memorizing the street names and turns. When we left, he exhaled with relief. He sauntered back to the car and motioned for me to get in, but I shook my head no. Anger filled his eyes, and his fist clinched at his sides, he looked like a volcano ready to erupt.
"Get in," he barked. But I shook my head.
"Please I can't go back just yet please," I pleaded.
"We had an agreement," he barked again. But before he could charge over to me, I took off in a run. It was very late; the alleys I weaved down were all empty. I did not know exactly where I was heading but I kept moving because he was on my trail. Down Rivitarro and onto Tinzza, then around the corner and there it was, tall, modern and uninviting as they all tended to be. The locks bent like thin aluminum and the security cameras I took out with a twist of my fingers. I crept like the burglar I was across the linoleum into the refrigerated segment of the building. I heard creaking of the door and the weighted footsteps. He turned the corner to the refrigerated room and was about to implode his wrath on me, when the smell hit him like a bullet to the chest.
"What is this place?" He asked in awe. I too let myself be swept up by the glorious smell.
"It's a blood bank," I said going over to a wire rack of crimson filled bags. A whole room of blood for our use!
"They make banks of blood," he asked in undeserving reverence. He seemed to worship the dead liquid, esteeming this stark refrigerator above the cathedral.
"Yes," I said caressing the chilled bag with my equally frigid fingertips. The fragrance was intoxicating but I was still disgusted. No one died; this is harmless, I coaxed to myself raising it to my trembling lips. I looked over to Demetri guzzling down a bag giving into incitement without so much as a thought.
"No drinking O positive," I stipulated before he could reach for seconds. "A, B or AB only, understand," I said showing him the markings on the bag. I could not help myself my Papa was a doctor. He looked at me for a moment with confusion then shrug in consent.
I drank probably more than I should have, but I had squelched my thirst for so long that I was a little impulsive. He hoisted himself upon the sterile steel counter top where he sat and watched me drink. Like the sun's rays, I absorbed the energy letting it sizzle in my being. Eventually I was content enough to stop. Blood did not taste bad, kind of like a sweet tomato soup, each bag a little different. Yet it had a saltiness that had you thirsting for more the instant it met your lips. I shrugged as I disposed of our bags in a hazardous material bin and walked out.
"You should try it warm, it is even more sensational then," he suggested whispering over my shoulder as I fiddled with the bent lock. Sensational would not have been my choice of word, satisfactory and thirst quenching yes, but not sensational.
I just nodded with him in light agreement. He was probably right but I hoped to never put the statement to the test. If I played my cards right I would never have to kill. I hoped that Papa would not be displeased with me, the lines were becoming blurred and I no longer could gage for myself what was right. Now it seem as though I was just picking the better of two evils.
We left and walked back to the small car just as the sky subtly brimmed with morning light. The sun was still resting out of view, behind the Tuscan horizon, but it would not be there for much longer. My scarlet pupils burned in the light and I winced as they adjusted. I allowed him to usher me into the car. I griped the handle above, the one that usually no one has need of, preparing for another rollercoaster drive with him. He did not disappoint me, driving at super speeds in the overly narrow roads.
As he drove one of the underappreciated works of Mendlssohn hummed through the cars speakers. It was a strange contrast the lulling string of and the roar of the engine. I felt a strange sense of homesickness.
"Do you mind if I change this?" I asked motioning to the stereo. He scared me by taking his eyes off the road to look at my face.
"Something against Mendlssohn?" he asked in pure sarcasm. I ignored him and gave a straight answer.
"No it's just, my Uncle use to play this song, among others."
"Do you play?"
"Not well, at least not nearly as well as him," I admitted.
I thought back to the baby grand that my Uncle played hour upon endless hour. In my mind I could see him there, hear the perfectly executed piece.
"You should hear him play Chopin. He is flawless. I on the other hand get aggravated enough to kill myself in the first measure of a Chopin piece," I reminisced to myself.
"You will not have to worry about that anymore," he said with a light chuckle. I was not sure if he was talking about my Uncle or me playing Chopin. He noticed my angry glare and clarified.
"-You will not have to worry about killing yourself that is," he amended before I could spit my insult.
Still taken back by his show of civility, I flashed through the selections on the screen and choose my venom, knowing that it all would provoke thoughts of home.
"But you like classical music?"
"Yes, my taste in music is rather eclectic. I'm a dancer and like any good dancer I am forever grateful to Trykofvsky. My Nana and Papa are members of the Opera guild in Seattle. I saw Carmen for the first time when I was seven and hummed Bielz for days. My Uncle and Aunt Alice like to think they enrich my musical tastes, but I discovered Billy Joel and Elton John on my own. My father listens to rap and whatever is "of the time" he says. The only common dislike we share in my family is country music. It is literally banned from the house."
I forced myself to bite down on my treasonous lips, angry that they spilled forth my loves to him with such ease. He did not deserve to know any of this. I fidgeted as he seemed to soak it in. Anxiousness pulsed in me. What was it about this villainous man that made me confess like an Alcoholic at an AA meeting? If I did not know better I would have sworn he was taking lessons from my Uncle Jasper.
"And your favorite song?" he questioned. I groaned inwardly.
"You would not know it," I warned coldly. He looked as if I had offended him, somehow insulted his intellect. He turned his head to the road his neck and posture rigidly stiff.
"I'll tell you my second favorite song," I offered.
"Bach's, Air on a G string. It put me to sleep from the time I was six to the time I turned twelve. Everyone in my house could play it by then." I must have had sentinel glaze to my eyes for he questioned me.
"Do you miss your coven?"
"My family," I corrected sharply, awarding him a painful nod.
I would have to learn to keep a poker face. I did not want him to read the pendulum of emotions that I seemed to be wavering about on. We fell into silence once again. It was a silence that was more awkward even now than when I was living, the steady rasps of breath no longer offered a backdrop.
My eyes locked on only one of the words whizzing past us on signs, L'Areoproto. The rush of emotions was coupled with an equally potent rush of adrenalin sending things into quick motion. My hand yanked on the wheel steering us toward the turn off. He however corrected my swerve pushing off with his left hand steering recklessly with his right. He had won.
He pulled off, fury plastered in stone across his face. For a second I feared for my life, and then I recalled my lifeless state. His eyes spilled over flames of hate and he growled at me pushing me back against the seat.
"Understand this, your life before now is dead. You can look at your time here as a career path or a sentence. But hear me clearly, if you upset the masters your stay here will double. If you try to run, I will be the one forced to track your wretched rear down and if I'm force to do that, I'll introduce you to the torture of the afterlife. Capisci?"
I sat there glowering at him between my slivers of angry eyelids, my lips in a defiant pout. He was receiving the full effects of my sassy teenage antics.
"Bastard." I kicked the dashboard and watched the plastic crack with satisfaction.
"Brat." He accused throwing the car back into drive and speeding off in a tire-squealing pace.
The rest of the drive was inconsequential. I clenched my teeth resisting further insults and he griped the steering wheel so tight I could see the pallid bones in his knuckles. We both would have pounced if the taunting would have continued.
We arrived back at the stone prison, an immense intrusive manor just of the square, that I was growing regrettably familiar with. I simply got out, slamming the car door so hard it smashed in. Then folding my arms over my chest, I stomped down the corner alley to the wide double doors where the demon Jane waited with an all knowing smirk.
If blood was still pumping through my veins my knees would have been plagued in bruises. I had been kneeling in the cold throne room for four whole days. Immortality allowed me to stay in one place like that, but it was not enjoyable in the least.
I was allowed to arise on the condition that I address them correctly, forced submission was his ultimate goal at this point. But I vowed that I would never call them Master. Instead, I knelt there for hours. If I tried to rise, Jane was obliged to teach me the meaning of suffering.
Someone was always in the room with me, waiting for my resolve to break. Only twice did I try to get up, only to be greeted by waves of unbearable pain, like fire taking blaze in my dead bones.
Could a vampire knell in one place for fifty years? Was there some form of world record where they kept tallies of such things?
My throat was engulfed in flames of craving. I knew that I would have to quench my thirst at some point but for now I was content to make my point. That was until he took over the shift. I groaned when he walked in and replaced Alec in that wooden throne I had been forced to gaze upon for the last 90 some hours of torture.
A four day vacation from his smug, despicably-gorgeous face was not long enough. He smiled and I wanted nothing more than to have something to throw at him. Something really hard! I thought. Like a burning million ton massive meteorite. Yes that would do it.
"Emmalie, how are you faring?"
He was patronizing even in his question, slouching lazily in his elevated lookout.
Or if we were traveling in space I could push him into the sun's gravitational pull and watch his gorgeous body sizzle up. But did the sun have a gravitational pull or simply a force? How close would I have to get? I fumed in silence.
"Well, thank you."Came the answer between my clenched teeth. Could one being hate another anymore? He was the reason I was here; he had sent this nightmare into motion. For the rest of eternity his name would leave a vile taste in my mouth.
He smiled and looked me over breathing in deeply and exhaling in an overly obnoxious way. I looked at the ground in disgust.
"I was recalling what you referred to me as the other day. And I thought I would enlighten you," he said pointedly.
"Storytime? I'm ecstatic let me go fetch a Ziploc baggy to contain my joy."
"Yes I knew you would be," he said sinisterly. Yet he continued a daze look in his eyes. "No one dared to call me that in life but it was exactly what I was." I shifted a little on my knees, unsure of where he was heading.
"I was born of a gypsy and sired by Eugène Rose de Beauharnais, Prince Français, in the year 1814, in secret. He died when I was 10 but not without leaving my mother and I well kept. He had seven legitimate children whom he indulged in while alive. He never spent much time with me, never acknowledging me in public. But he did make sure that I was sent to the best schools and had the best tutors. He left me a large inheritance that I acquired when I turned 16. It was then that I flaunted my wealth in court, spending enormous somes on flamboyant things. I was rash and hot-tempered and feared by even my friends No one dared call me Bastard, or my Mother a mistress but it was precisely what we were. I was a bully and a force to be reckoned with. And well…at eighteen years old I met my match in Aro. After I turned no one really insults a Vampire. So you're the first to peg me correctly."
I did not know what to say. Was he telling me that I had hurt him? He did not look mad, not even offended. He was now fiddling with something in his hand.
"The son of Napoleon?" I asked still absorbing his tale.
"Yes that would be my father. You know your history," he smiled at my knowledge.
"Now what of you brat? Where did you come from?" he asked.
"I suppose I could very well be... well a brat. My Mia and Popeye took me in when I was four. A street beggar in Prague without a past." I admitted for the first time to anyone.
He nodded and looked at me deeply as if trying to read the past that even I had no memory of. "You may have been found there but you have Swedish blood. I can smell it," he informed me in a thoughtful voice. I opened my mouth to question this new found knowledge, but I caught myself. Tactfully I tried to mask my interest and simply ignore him.
"May I present you with an offer?" he asked. My eyes were drawn to his; I noticed that they were more vibrant than mine the color of fresh blood.
"Go ahead. It is not as if I'm equipped to deny you," I reminded him.
"I know."
"Acknowledge the Masters and I'll take you to see your wolf friend."
My dead heart about skipped in my chest. Leah alive? She was alive?
"She shifted and will not turn back. We need her in human form to complete Aro's orders. Perhaps you would ease her out of her wolf phase."
"Yes, I'll do it just take me to her," I said rising.
"Not quite yet brat. You have to appease Aro, Marcus and Cacius before you can leave this room," he reminded. He sent for them while I still knelt on that damn stone floor hating myself for doing this.
They entered erilly like ghost floating about a drafty house.
"Are you ready to serve and obey us?" Cacius asked in a near shout. He liked me the least, I think. I had heard him talking of getting rid of me, claiming I showed no promise. I looked up at him. His hair shone like stands of silver spider web. Marcus and Aro hung back reluctant to assume I was giving in. They stood in door assuming that they were wasting their time.
"Yes," I said in a voice that sounded almost before I willed it. It scared me that I agreed so easily.
"Yes what...Emmalie?"Aro prompted entering the room and stooping to the ground. My lips felt like lead. I was unsure if I could bid them to make the words they wanted to hear. "Our immortality does not give you reign to try my patience, Child," Cacius bit at me. I looked at them suffering in advance for what I was going to do, I would regret this.
"Yes...Master." The last word came out in a soft whisper, barely audible.
"And you will not leave without our blessing?" Aro added. I simply nodded but the twitching in pale lips and disapproving puckered brows told me I had not responded appropriately.
"Yes Master," I forlornly corrected. I hated myself now.
"You may rise," Caucus said with a victorious sneer. "You are truly odd for a newborn. The mute girl we locked up and throw her human carcass through a hole. She is a wild animal of a thing like a newborn should be. But you, your control is unusual. I expect much out of you."
"Do you thirst?" Marcus asked. I knew the deep color of my eyes and my weakened state must have given me away. I did not even bother to lie.
"Yes," I hissed eagerly. They all laughed at my response. Demetri, I noticed was watching from the corner of the room, pretending not to listen in. He too thought my enthusiasm was humorous; he turned his eyes to the ground and scoffed knowingly. They nodded to each other pleased that they had caused me to suffer.
"Very well child. We brought you banquet for one," he said motioning to the gold plated door. The man that entered was heavy built with a chubby face. Clothed in a uniform, he appeared to be a postal worker of some sort. In his hand he held a bouquet. He looked to be very confused, like a mouse that had been weaving through a maze for so long it forgot what cheese smelled like.
His eyes were wide and puppy like. He wandered in a strange pattern looking from wall to wall lost. I instantly felt sorry for him. I noticed that he was sweating profusely in anxiousness.
"Mi scusi! Mi sono perso!" He was approaching me; the rest hung back waiting for some sort of entertainment. Entertainment that I was not going to give them!
"Posso aiutarla," I said in my poor Italian pronunciation. I had to ignore the snickers that were coming from behind.
"Sto cercando uhhhh...Emmalie Calan?" The man said looking at a small paper. I sighed
"Mi chiamo Emmalie Cullen," I told him. He looked relieved, practically throwing the flowers at me. Wiping his brow with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket, he looked at his watch shifting from foot to foot. I peered down at the note realizing he was waiting for me to read then sign his delivery papers.
The message "Buon appetite!" written in a fine script.
I growled and looked at the crowd behind me. They were all happy to watch their cruel trick come to life. Cacius was smiling. "Torno subito!" I told the chubby man. Then I stomped back to my Masters.
"What the hell are you trying to pull?" They all laughed harder now.
"What does Carlisle do to warp his family's minds in such an unnatural way?" Aro asked looking at me as if I was the freak.
"It is called morals. Most have them," but I was unsure why I was as freakish as I was. Could it be that Carlisle had really had warped my mind? I was glad I had the same control my Aunt Bella had experienced but why?
My thoughts were interrupted by the aroma of salty human blood. Perhaps my control was not as infallible as they thought. My hands were shaking at my side, and my venom drip flowed more steadily. My audible range was tuned in on his nervous shifting and murmured heart beat. Even the pulse of his blood in his partially clogged veins mocked me. I bite my lip in resistance. They all wanted to see me falter, to resort to my wild nature and drink this pathetic man dry. And all the sudden I was not sure if they were not going to see the show they had been waiting for.