It has been several months since that day in front of the mirror. I have set myself up with a job; I am a shop assistant for a clothing store. The job is boring, but at least I have something to keep myself busy. I have to work during the day, of course, because most stores are not open at night, but this does not bother me; I cover up when walking to work and peel off all the layers as soon as I get inside. I wear eye contacts. They are light blue, and, when I slip them on, my eyes appear to be an odd violet colour. At my lunchbreaks, I am often asked to attend a cafe with the other shop assistants, but I always have an excuse ready. I strongly suspect that this annoys them, but I do not care. Staying inside all day has its good sides-I can organise my wardrobe a hundred times over, there are that many clothes in the store. I have also learnt German; it only took me an hour to memorize everything in the book my boss lent me; I have a photographic memory, you see. I have also set myself up a bank account, under the name Natalie Price. Yes, I still use that name, but I am not attached to it; they are just two words that will last me a couple of decades. I have also bought myself a house; it is huge, and wonderful. I am in the process of restoring it, because when I bought it, it was in ruins. It looks almost perfect now. I enjoy walking through its vast hallways, and leaping up to touch the beautiful ceilings. They are engraved with the most curious patterns-they are in some language, certainly not German, Italian, or English. My favourite room is a particularly large one, with a massive fireplace that is often roaring-I cannot feel the heat, but it is a comfort I like to have. The floor is simple floorboards, but I have placed several gargantuan rugs, in an effort to make it look more homely. There are several large armchairs strewn across this room, along with a few bookcases, already overflowing with books. I like to read. My current favourite is Anne Rices' Interview with a vampire. Lestat sounds like someone I would very much like to meet. I often wonder whether he really exists, and Anne Rice based her book on him.
"Excuse me?"
I look up from my magazine. It is a customer, and she is holding two dresses-one is a light pink colour, with red, lacy trim. The other is pale green. "Yes, miss?" I ask, in fluent German. The girl cannot be any older than sixteen, and she flushes. "Well...I was just wondering, which of these would you buy if you were me?" She holds the two dresses out. I consider. Truthfully, I would not buy either. I would rather go naked than wear a dress so horrible. But, then again, I only have tolerance for dark colours, black, for example. "I would buy the pink one," I tell her serenely, carefully marking my page by folding the top corner. I close my magazine. "Really?" the human asks in disbelief. "Yes. Why? Do you not like it?" I wonder why she is holding the dress if she does not like it. The human girl blushes harder, and I have to swallow hard. I may not be a newborn any more, but blood still appeals to me greatly, and it does not help if a human cuts themselves in front of me, or blushes furiously, like this girl is doing right now. "No...I like it. I just, I don't know how I would look in it..." I give her a kind smile. "Why don't you try it on? You can see for yourself that way. The changing rooms are this way," I gently take her arm, and I feel her shudder, very, very slightly. Sometimes I forget that I have an extremely sensual touch, and it often gives humans chills. I have yet to see if it applies to vampires as well. I lead her to the changing rooms, which are, really, just doorless cubicles with a flimsy curtain drawn across where the door should be. I do not like the idea of curtains as door substitutes. I mean, the humans deserve some privacy. "Thank you," the human mumbles, hurrying into the cubicle that is farthest from me. "Let me see what you look like when you are dressed," I call to her. "Yeah...sure," she mutters, barely audible, at least, to human ears.
I lean back and watch the progress of the money-laden humans who walk from store to store, peering into windows. Many females wander into our store at some stage, and I smile. Not many humans can resist our store. It is brightly coloured, nothing like the cafe called Roxannes', where I took my last job as a professional thief and as a human. It is attractive, and the clothes put on display are all beautiful. Our store sells not just for teenage females, but for small children and adults as well. Luckily, I do not have to cater for all these humans; I have several other shop assistants on hand at the moment. "I'm ready!" my customer calls, drawing back the curtain and walking out. I observe her for a moment before I speak, and I choose my words carefully: "What kind of event are you wearing this dress to?" Because I know that this human would never wear something so gaudy of her own free will. The girl grimaces. "A wedding. I'm the flower girl." I nod sympathetically. "Weddings. Aren't they a pain?" The girl groans. "Tell me about it!" I try and smile. "Well, for a flower girl dress, it's not that bad." "So I don't look stupid?" she asks. "Absolutely not!" I exclaim, hoping that the human does not see through my lie. I can be believable when I want to be, though it is to be questioned whether I can lie to others of my kind just as well. The girl pays for the horrible dress and thanks me for helping. I grin and tell her it was nothing. Then I return to my desk, and to my magazine. Someone has spilt coffee on it, I realize, holding it up by a corner. It is falling apart, and is of no use to me now. I go to place it in the bin, but, before it falls in, I notice that today's paper is lying on top. It is in my hands, before the coffee-sodden magazine lands on top of it. I unfold the paper and my eyes widen at the front headline:
Spencer speaks no more.
Interesting. I read the article. It is about the brutal slaying of a well-known American lawyer, who was visiting Germany to help defend his clients' case. He was found in a local park, with his throat torn out and drained completely of blood. I scan other related articles: Death toll on the rise, Young woman found dead in her home, A family of four is killed behind a locked door. I almost drop the paper. Why? Because I know what is happening. The humans all think there is some sort of psychopath out there, killing people, and in a way they are right. Only it is no human that is committing these atrocities. It is another vampire, and a newborn, by the looks of it. Normally I wouldn't care, but these murders are so close to where I live, and if this newborn continues to kill and not even bother to get rid of the evidence, the huge coven known as the Volturi may step in. And if they do that, they may very well convict the wrong vampire. Me. I must catch up to this young vampire, and explain the rules to them, and then perhaps the killings will stop, and the Volturi will not step in. But there is no guarantee that the newborn will listen. Things may even get violent. If that happens, I will surely die. I remember my good friend Bryce, who was a vampire like me, only he was five hundred years old, and I had no trouble taking him down when I was a newborn. I must be prepared for a fight. I am still a young vampire myself, although not as new as this one, who clearly has no clue what they are doing.
I stand up suddenly, and my boss comes hurrying over. "What's going on, Natalie?" she asks, in English, even though I do understand her language now. "I'm sorry, but I need to leave," I tell her firmly, in such a way that temporarily renders her speechless. "L-leave?" she asks. "But Natalie, why?" "I do not feel well. I will have to take the next few days off, in fact. Do not worry about my pay check, I'll get it later, when I feel...better." My boss swallows my lie easily. "Yes, of course, Natalie," she flutters. "I hope you feel better soon."
"So do I," I mutter, as I take my layers and begin to pull them on.
I have no idea where to start looking for this newborn. I do the obvious thing: I wait until it is dark. I keep myself well hidden, so as to not alarm the young one. I keep my eyes and ears open, waiting for an unfamiliar scent to come wafting my way. The wind is blowing against me, and I can smell everything- the sweat of humans that are walking home from work, the smell of numerous animals, as they prepare to settle down for the night, the fumes that are pumped out the backs of cars...that one is a particularly nasty scent. I wrinkle my nose in distaste. Yet I keep all my senses trained and alert; I have a feeling that the newborn is not too far away. I have no idea what I am going to when I encounter the newborn; if they are anything like I was, they will kill and ask questions later. I will try and reason with the; if that does not work, then I will have to flee. I do not wish to die tonight.
Suddenly, I catch the scent of fresh blood. It is coming from the west. I leap out from my hiding spot, which was behind a dumpster. Not very creative, I know, but how many people, vampires and humans alike, will look behind a dumpster? According to my senses, the newborn is not one mile away from me. I am surprised that I did not catch the scent earlier. But I am new to this sort of thing. I hurtle across the road, too fast for the mortals to see anything except for a whitish blur that flickers across the road. If a human had blinked, they would have missed me. Even though I am already on the other side of the road and well on the newborns' tail, cars screech in confusion and slide to a shuddering stop, blocking the road. I swallow back a laugh; humans are so stupid sometimes. The newborn is male, and perhaps a week old, no older than that, judging by how his eyes glow in the darkness; they are a shocking crimson colour; the colour that easily identifies a new vampire. He appears to be only about twelve years of age. My chest aches for the boy and the pain he must have suffered-I was twenty-two when I was changed, and I screamed and shuddered like a baby. Goodness knows what this boy must have gone through. Who, I wonder, would dare to condemn someone at such a young age? The boy is fast, but I am faster. I throw my arms around his waist a split second before I collide with him- a sound like thunder roars when our two bodies smash together.
The boy shouts in surprise and struggles to break free, and he very nearly succeeds. I grit my teeth and growl a warning at him, as I tighten my embrace on him. "Who-who are you?" he cries, struggling and spitting angrily, like an enraged, captured snake. "Stop struggling and I will tell you," I grunt, very aware of the fact that the human couple that the boy had been chasing into this dark alley are now watching us with wide eyes. The boy considers for a moment, and then lies still in my arms. I loosen my hold on him slightly, but still tight enough to hold him, if he tries to trick me. He does not move, so I withdraw my hold on him completely and step back, staring him down with my burgundy eyes. He fidgets and whips his head around at the humans. A loud snarl erupts from his throat, and he points a white finger at the terrified humans. "You are dead," he whispers. The human girl screams. I slap the boy, not holding back any of my strength this time. His head snaps back, and he stares at me with wounded eyes. "No," I hiss, my eyes burning into his furiously. My eyes can be like poison when I want them to be. He cowers under my gaze, and I feel smug satisfaction at the fact that my stare can also disarm vampires as well as humans. "You will not have them," I say, my voice poisonous, deadly. "But I want them," the boy protests, gesturing to his chest-which is pale, like the rest of him, much more obvious than most vampires because he isn't wearing a shirt. God help him if he has done anything in the sunlight. But I do not believe in God. I have sinned too much to believe in anything, really. "A fire is deep inside me, and I must put it out," he adds, a slight yowl inside his voice. I know how that feels. It is a fierce fire, and will not let up until it is doused-by blood. I make my voice soothing. "I understand how you feel," I say. "But this is not the way to do it." I gesture to the humans, who are both crying weakly, the man propping the girl up. "It's the only way I can think of," the boy insists. I consider. He does not know any better. Whoever changed him did not bother explaining anything to him. "If you kill a human, you must dispose of the body, not leave them where they are," I say gently, placing my hands on his shoulders, trying to comfort him. "Why?" he demands. I glance at the humans; they are hysterical with fear. They are in no condition to do anything that will expose the two of us. "Because the humans start to notice after the first few murders," I tell him. "So?" he sneers. "So, if the humans start to notice, you can bet that the Volturi already know. Everything," I try not to shudder at the thought. The Volturi, in fact, probably already know. Hopefully they are debating whether to step in or not. By the way things seem to be going; perhaps they will not have to. The child does not seem unwilling to learn. 'What are a Volturi?" he asks, interested. I sigh and wonder how Bryce, the vampire who changed me, put up with this. It is a pain to explain everything, the meaning of your words.
"The Volturi are the law enforcers of our world," I tell him. "They are a very old, very powerful family who does not take kindly to young vampires such as you breaking the rules. If they knew, they would come and destroy you. You would be dead before you hit the ground. I imagine that the Volturi are very strong. They could rip your head right off." I do not know this though. I have never met the Volturi, and with any luck, I will not have to. "So, they're like cops?" he asks. I nod. "Yes. They are like cops, except a normal cop will not kill you on the spot for breaking the rules. A normal cop will slap you with a fee or perhaps hold you overnight at the station. But these cops, they will rip you apart if they get wind that you are the source of all these murders, all this despair." I hope the child does not see through my bluff. I am hoping to scare him into behaving himself. It works. The boy trembles under my hands and struggles to compose himself. "Do you believe me?" I ask him. He nods, throat tight, and I realize he is thirsty. I consider letting him murder these humans, but that idea is quickly dismissed. There have been enough murders here, in Frankfurt. There does not need to be any blood, any more death. I will take the boy outside the city, I decide. He can quench his thirst there. "Then come with me," I suggest. "I will show you how to put out the fire and not attract the attention of these cops that we both fear. There is a way to satisfy yourself, and still remain invisible. You want this, do you not?" The boy nods. "I don't want to die," he says, starting to weep without tears. "I'm only twelve years old." I hug him, very briefly; I hear him breathe in my scent, and he is intoxicated. It does not help that my touch feels, to him, that he is gently being caressed by my fingernails, from the inside out. It is not a bad feeling, I think. Such is the pleasure I can give. "Let me deal with these humans before I take you to feed," I say gently. "Stay here."
He does not move, but watches me with amazed eyes, as I walk over to the humans. I grab the girl first. She lets out a loud scream, and I clap a pale hand over her mouth. "Ssh..." I whisper into her ear. "This will be over quickly. And you will still be alive. Your lover will be too. I give you my word." The man yells in fright, and I kick out and catch him in the jaw. He slumps to the ground, not dead, but merely unconscious. I stare into the girls' eyes. She is a pretty little thing, with waist-length blonde hair, and big brown eyes. "You never saw this boy," I whisper, my will as poisonous as a cobra, "He never chased you down here. There is no girl with burgundy eyes, either. You are not frightened." My lips for some more wet words, deadly. "You did not ever live here in Frankfurt. Ever." The girl nods silently. "I never saw that boy," she says obediently. "He never chased me down here. There is no girl with burgundy eyes. I am not afraid. I never lived here in Frankfurt. Never." I release the girl, and she hurries away, and is soon out of sight. The boy moans longingly. "Patience," I tell him. Then I walk over to the man. I rouse him from his slumber by kicking him in the ribs. I am careful not to snap any of them. He begins to shriek in both terror and surprise, when I lift him up by the hair. He has long hair; it is quite unattractive, actually. He should cut it. "You never saw me and this boy," I say, burning into his eyes, into his brain, using my powerful stare. "We never chased you down here. You are not frightened. And you do not live here in Frankfurt." Like a puppet, he repeats my dangerous words and shambles after his girlfriend when I release him.
The boy is impressed. "How do you do that?" he asks. "I do not know," I admit. "It is a gift I just...had when I was changed. I can erase memories." "Sweet!" the boy says appreciatively. I smile. No-one has ever said that to me about my abnormality. Not all vampires have gifts like mine. Bryce was not gifted, but he said it did not matter; he felt blessed, just having heightened senses, the extra speed, and the potential to live forever. "I wish I had a gift," the boy was saying. "Like, it would be really cool if I could be like a chameleon or something. Yeah. That'd be sweet." I hug him again. He makes me feel good, despite being a monster who feeds off the living. "Yuck!" He shouts, struggling out of my embrace, yet I do not feel rebuffed. I like this boy already. He will make a good partner. Not a romantic partner; just someone to travel with and talk to. "What is your name?" I ask, still smiling. "Toby," he answers. "Well, Toby, how would you like to quench that thirst of yours now?" I ask, very, very pleased with myself. This has gone a lot better than I had expected. "Oh, hell yeah!" he shouts. I laugh and curl my arm over his shoulder. He does not shake it off, but chuckles merrily. We walk up the alleyway together. I wonder about Toby, and whether he can fill the hole Bryce left behind.
As we exit the alleyway, I hear somebody sigh. I whip around, but I see no-one. Yet I could have sworn somebody sighed in disappointment, not two paces away from me. Strange.
The two of us drive far out of the city. I have stolen a black Porsche, and it roars along the empty roads. Toby tells me about his life as a newborn. I do not really want to hear it, but I listen anyway. He remembers walking out of his school one afternoon, when a dark shadow swept down upon him and bit him. He tells me of how the fire burned along his veins, eradicating his weak, human self, and replacing it with the awesome power of a newborn vampire. "It hurt a lot," he tells me now, drumming his fingers on the armrest. I tell him to use less strength; otherwise we will have to run back to Frankfurt. Toby does as I say, but continues to look at me curiously. I raise an eyebrow, wordlessly asking him what it is. He shrugs and turns away, staring out at the night. Our car weaves left and right; I do a couple of circles for Toby's entertainment. He grins and tells me I am awesome. I find an isolated enough place for us to feed; a lonely caravan park. There are only a few humans staying here; that is good. There are fewer witnesses. I park our car a kilometre away. Toby and I exit the car, and I take his hand and tell him that I will help him feed inconspicuously. Together, we run to the caravan park, as fast as race cars. We reach our destination in under a minute. Toby is keen to just rush the humans, but I restrain him. "We have to be careful," I whisper. "We must be silent and swift, and we must clean up after ourselves." Toby makes a face. "I don't like cleaning," he complains. "I don't either, but it is necessary," I say. We observe the caravans, until we see one that contains an old couple. "We will drink from them," I tell him, jerking my head towards them. The humans are sleeping peacefully; not at all aware of the horror that awaits them. We sneak inside their caravan. It is a comfortable enough place, I think. I wave my hand at the old woman, who is snoring loudly. Toby makes a face. "I never drink from old people," he says, much too loud. "Ssh!" I snap, as the old man gives a loud grunt. "Sorry," he whispers. He creeps over to the woman, gliding like a ghost. He opens her up and laps up her blood with great gusto. I make a face. He is much too messy. There is blood everywhere, all over the bed upon which the now-dead woman lies upon, and all over Toby. I now understand what Bryce told me once: "You are actually quite neat; I had blood all over me when I was a newborn." I take the old man's hand, and I know that I am doing him a kindness by drinking from him tonight; he is sick, very, very sick. His cancer is eating up his body and is nearly finished its' job; the man, if I left him alone, would be dead by next week. There is nothing any doctor can do for him; he is finished, and it is with a heavy heart that I open him up and sip from his veins. Yet the blood does not satisfy me; the fire flickers and dies for an instant but is back almost at once, screaming in rebellion. When the man is dead, I heave him over my shoulder and tell Toby to do the same with the woman. He does so, his clothes dripping with blood. I will have to make him wash before I take him to my home. We leap out of the window with ease and I bury the bodies under a stream. Toby does not understand my weird logic, and I do not tell him. I will tell him later, however. Before we leave, I order Toby to strip down and wash all the blood off himself. There is nothing I can do about his clothes- I will get him some more tomorrow.
As Toby stands in the water, splashing water on himself, turning the stream pink momentarily, I study him. He is beautiful. He has light brown, short, spiky hair that I imagine is only spiky because it is matted with dried blood. His eyes are bright crimson, brighter than before because he has fed. He is surprisingly well-built for a twelve year old. If he was human, his muscles would be bulging by the age of fifteen, I guess. He notices my scrutiny. "What?" he asks, suddenly self-conscious. "Nothing," I say quickly, busying myself with getting all Toby's clothes together. We must hurry. It is dawn already, and the sunlight is trying to peek through the thick trees and onto us, the vampires. Toby splashes himself a few more times, and sunlight courses over his body, making it sparkle beautifully. I hand him his clothes; he pulls them on, still sopping wet but grateful nevertheless.
We are back in my car before the sun is fully up. Toby drips pink water all over the Porsche's leather interior, but I tell him not to worry. "We have to ditch this car, anyway," I inform him, as we speed away from the caravan park. "Why?' he wonders. "I like this car." I lean over and pat his arm. He shudders delicately. "I do, too," I assure him. "We will steal another one just like this later on." Toby nods. "Where are we going?" he asks. "We are going to my house," I say, my hand still on his arm. "Then I will have to get you something to do while I am at work." "You work?" I nod. Toby seems baffled. "But...doesn't the sun bother you?" "It does," I tell him serenely. "But I cover up to get to work, and then I take all my layers off. You understand." And I can tell he does.
When we reach my house, I usher Toby inside, glancing around surreptitiously. My house is not that isolated; I still have a few neighbours, mainly elderly people who cannot see two inches in front of them without their glasses, but still, I must be careful. I quickly shut the door behind me, praying that no-one saw our momentarily glittering bodies. Toby is awed. "Wow, nice place you've got here," he says. "Thank you," I mumble, crushing the car keys' in my fist; when I open it again, they are nothing but fine dust. I drop it on the floor and sweep it under the rug with my foot. "Can I trust you to stay inside the house while I am at work?" I ask him. Toby shrugs. "There are plenty of books here," I say, gesturing to my many bookshelves. "And I have a TV." "Does it have Foxtel?" he asks, suddenly looking much more enthusiastic. "Yes," I say. "You can watch whatever channel you wish." "Cool!" he cheers. "Just...stay here. In the house. Do not move. I will be back in a few hours. If you are thirsty by then, I will take you hunting. But until then you are not to move from the house. Do you understand?"
Toby nods. "Good," I say. "I do not want to have to chase you all around town." "Okay, okay..."Toby mutters, shifting towards the TV, "I get it. You can go now." I smile to myself, as I bundle myself in my layers. He feels like my own son, almost.