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Chapter 15: Side Effects

When Beaux gathered his coat and gloves to leave for the Lavoirsier's mansion, Vincent cautiously stepped in front of the door, preventing his exit. After what he had just heard from Cecilia, Beaux could not help noting the immeasurable sorrow deep beyond the black pupils in Vincent's green eyes. Yet through Beaux's scrutiny, Vincent's face remained outwardly idyllic, his lips forever curved upwards in a mocking smile and his head tilted to one side as though anticipating a question.

Beaux's voice was involuntarily softer than what he had intended, "What is it, Vincent?"

Vincent's response was quick, a clear sign of premeditation. "Perhaps it is best that you leave Miss Meliah alone for the time being. She has had a difficult day-"

"She's upset, if you haven't noticed," Beaux snapped. "I'm not going to leave her to her wallowing."

"Trust me," Vincent murmured. His tone was persuasively low and assuring. "An overprotective lover will only lose his overprotected love."

Despite his initial endeavor to remain indifferent, Beaux could not stop the words from leaving his tongue, "Hmph! You're one to talk!"

Vincent's smile faltered for a moment and a horrified consternation replaced it. When he spoke, his voice trembled ever so subtly. "Yes, I am."

Regret flooded Beaux's lean body like water through a broken dam. He said no more, but apologetically moved back to the parlor, where Cecilia sat, comfortably, on a large red sofa. She caught the sight of Vincent by the grand entrance and smiled encouragingly, but Vincent only returned her optimism with a mournful frown.

"Your father's right, Beaux," Cecilia said when Beaux reclined half-heartedly on the armchair across from her. She inched forward on her seat as he descended. Her mouth twitched, aching to form words, but no sound came. After a few minutes, she seemed to have lost what she had wanted to say, and shifted uneasily side to side before she resignedly slumped unto the pillows.

Beaux was in a green meadow. It was the type of grassy utopia that one would associate with the fairy tales of yore. The air was crisp but warm under the dazzling golden sunlight, which filtered through the translucent leaves to throw dappled shadows across his snowy skin. He sighed for everything was so tranquil and beautiful. Birds were chirping. Bees were buzzing.

But his meditation was suddenly cut short when his eyes fell upon a scarlet form a couple yards away. He stood up with effort; his legs felt like wet clay, sloshing and amorphous. The blades of grass parted elegantly as he came next to the figure.

Already, his windpipe was constricting. "Meliah," he choked.

She was clad in red from the cherry ribbons in her braided tresses to the ruby slippers on her feet. Her body formed a remarkably fluid "S" as she lay on her side. There was a looking glass clenched in her right hand and an apple in her left. She was sleeping on a bed of white flowers, which was opaque and smooth enough to pass as a layer of silks. He found himself leaning closer and closer to her face.

But Beaux was not prepared for what he saw. Meliah's skin was flawless like the surface of polished ceramic vase; her black lashes were unnaturally long and thick; her lips, though the same small pout, were smooth and voluminous. This Meliah was so much more beautiful than the real Meliah. Yet there was something about this unrestrained perfection that exuded horror.

He nearly tumbled backwards, trying to create space between their bodies. And without warning, Meliah's eyes opened and Beaux cried out in terror to find that they were burning crimson. Blood so dark it was almost black dripped from her eyes until it slid unto her pallid cheek, leaving a grotesque, coagulated trail. Her mouth opened to speak but more blood spilled from her depths. Soon, Meliah was drowning in her own blood, which seemed to be bubbling from every pore…

Beaux woke with a start. How long had he been asleep? The curtain over the window kept the room dark, but from the luminescence of the fringes, Beaux could deduce that the sun was high in the sky. He had half a mind to get up when he realized the pressure of a cold hand on his forehead.

"He has a bit of a fever," Cecilia noted. She had not noticed that Beaux's eyes had been open. Beaux closed his eyes once more and feigned sleep, but Meliah's bloody image haunted him as though he were still in the midst of his nightmare.

"Silly child," Vincent murmured in agreement.

"Is it true?" Cecilia asked nervously. She replaced her hand with a wet cloth, and Beaux cringed inscrutably as the water trickled down his neck.

"What is?" Vincent adjusted himself on the couch idly and wound a pale finger in his paler hair.

"That Beaux…bit her?"

Vincent's expression was unfathomable. He was staring at Cecilia but his line of sight was detached as if he was looking into the distance that spanned beyond the walls.

"It's true-"

"Oh my God," Cecilia gasped and closed her eyes with realization.

"There is no God," Vincent simply responded.

Cecilia shook her head fervently. Beaux felt the bronze strands graze his face viciously. "He has no idea. Oh, Uncle Vincent, he doesn't know!"

"It's my fault. I didn't think he would be able to…to stop. I had hoped that he would kill her."

"If he knew what was going to happen, he would wish the same!" Cecilia retorted hysterically.

"Who knows?" Vincent mused, suddenly animated, "Maybe he will finally realize that the two of them were not meant to be. You know what they say about troubles. There's no pain that time can't cure."

"Uncle Vincent!" Cecilia admonished. She angrily wagged a finger at him. "How can you say that after seeing him with her? You know it. Beaux can't live without her-"

"Now, now, Cecilia, we don't know that for a fact."

"Uncle Vincent!"

"Cecilia," Vincent began, his eyes misty, "let me tell you something about life. When you've been immortal for so many centuries, you learn a few things. And I have learned that love is ephemeral. It's as short-lived and fleeting as the flowers in the spring, the leaves in the summer, the chill in the fall, and the snow in the winter. A one-sided affection will only bring Beaux pain. And now that Miss What's-her-face is beginning her downward spiral to oblivion, Beaux has little recourse but to let go."

Cecilia was shaking her head again, but Vincent simply looked at her with a small, pained smile – a sliver of its normal self.

"She loves him, too-"

"SO HOW DOES THAT MATTER?!" Vincent bellowed. Cecilia, clearly shocked by Vincent's uproarious reaction, made a hasty move to wipe away the tears that were forming. Immediately, Vincent looked repentantly at Cecilia before moving toward his niece to offer a handkerchief. "I'm sorry," he murmured, avoiding eye contact, "I don't know what came over me. I'm so sorry. What I meant to say was that there are many side-effects to the bite. We can't be sure what emotions are being wrought by the impact."

"You mean that the bite might make her love him?" Cecilia sounded skeptical.

"Humans are not like us. They are impulsive, emotional creatures. A vampire's bite involves the predator and the prey. The venom that coats our fangs is like a narcotic, better yet, a hallucinogen. The bite will have a psychological effect on her. If not completely, it will drastically augment her attraction to Beaux."

"Oh my God," Cecilia whispered again.

"That's not all, had he bitten her while she was dead, she could have been resurrected as a vampire – immortal and fully cognizant, like us. But Beaux bit her while she was still alive. That girl will turn into a blood-lusting monster with little self-control. The Coven will 'handle' the matter by destroying her. They can't afford to lose their cover."

"If Beaux finds out," Cecilia breathed, "He will be furious! Not to mention, distraught!"

"I don't plan on telling him. But if Beaux desires to save her," Vincent said slowly, "He will need to ally himself with the Coven, ask for their assistance."

"You know, they would never-"

"Exactly."

"How can we stop the transformation?"

"I'm afraid we can't do anything."

Beaux bolted out of his supine position. Cecilia gasped, "Beaux!" And she exchanged a worried glance with Vincent whose grave expression revealed nothing more than pity.

"What is the meaning of this?" Beaux hissed. "What do you mean Meliah's turning into a monster?"

Author's Notes:

Poor Andante has been relatively quiet over these last chapters (I believe someone had mentioned that). He will be making an appearance in the next chapter, but why?

Find out! Next time on -- Surreptitious!