The soft waves of the lake were cold, but Liza stepped into the water regardless, her feet bare. Goosebumps traveled up her legs. The chill was bearable. She was in a simple, light-colored gown, almost something that was worn to sleep, and it was sleeveless. The breeze that blew was a little warmer, rustling the fabric and the loose hair on her shoulders.
Her feet carried her into the lake of their own accord. Behind her, it was night, and ahead of her on the horizon, the sun was rising ever so slowly, a dark red line where the water met the waning night. The weak glow was enough to silhouette three figures in the water. Two men and a woman.
They stood with the waves lapping slightly above their waists; albeit, the water reached just under the woman's breasts because she was shorter. She stood between the other two. All three were dressed in black gowns.
They looked like they had been in a funeral procession, at least that's what Liza thought. She approached them, looking through her eyes but feeling outside of her body somehow, having no control of it. The water soaked her own dress. Soon the chill abated, and she didn't feel the cold at all, just the ghosting touch of the lake against her body.
When it reached as high as her ribs, she stopped. She took a pause to regard the people. Their faces were shadowed as the light of early morning outlined their own bodies. Liza couldn't tell who they were.
Still, her feet carried her, the sand soft underneath her bare soles. She approached the man on her left. He seemed to follow her with his eyes, which might've been several shades lighter in color to her own, or maybe it was because of the smirk that tugged one corner of his mouth. It lit his gaze. Liza followed his eyes down and saw that the water now reached her own breasts. That's where his attention had gone. That impish smile grew.
The other man and the woman looked on, the former's expression, from what she could tell because of the dimness, was anything but one of amusement. The smiling first man began to lower farther into the water until he was mid-chest level. Liza, feeling nervous, hesitated, then raised a hand to the back of his neck. Seemingly knowing what to do, the man began to lean back, with her hand there at the base of his head.
After the water reached his neck, all but his head disappeared into the lake. He floated in its blackness. His eyes locked on Liza's own, which were above him. His gaze caught a bit of the rising sun, and the irises were indeed light. Maybe in daylight, his eyes were blue, or green.
The smirk had gone. He shut those eyes of his, and then his face too was submerged. Liza let him go. The water had swallowed him whole. He didn't rise back up. Her heart had given a lurch inside her chest.
Next, she moved to the woman to do the same with her. When Liza had quickly looked back to the spot where the first man had been, there was still no sign of him. She wondered if he'd drowned, if she'd drowned him.
The woman was of her height and had locks of light-colored hair that cascaded down her neck and back like silk. She smiled softly at Liza, sinking, her dark garb dissolving into the lake. Liza held her behind her head, her hand under that thick, blonde mane. The woman's hair haloed her in the water like dark bronze. Then she was also swallowed up, leaving just a ripple in her wake.
She did not rise back again, and her body was not below the surface, for Liza walked straight through the place she'd been in. The last man remained. As Liza neared him, she thought that he looked familiar now.
His dark hair matched his dark eyes, which regarded Liza with a strange tenderness as she moved to his side. As she raised her hand a third time, the man began to descend. Water seeped into his clothes, up his chest, until it was just below his collarbone, and he slowly leaned backward. Her heart floundered again.
She kept his head afloat, gazing down at him, wondering where she'd seen him, why he looked familiar, and why he was looking at her like that—with an unexplainable fondness. She didn't know him. At least, that's what she told herself. At the back of her mind, somewhere far, there was a flutter of recognition.
And yet, the other two had been total strangers. She'd never seen them in her life. This man—she'd seen his face before.
"Liza," he said. Her name sounded like velvet as he spoke it—to jar her out of her thoughts, to pull her out of his depthless eyes. Her other hand met his clean-shaven cheek, very lightly.
Suddenly, she remembered who he was. That vampire. The image of him in the rain, in that alley—her unexpected savior—flashed in the forefront of her sight. Fear gripping her, she pushed him into the lake. When he disappeared, she moved away—as quickly as she could through the water, back to the shore. Even with the flow of the waves, it was slow going.
She fell into the water twice and began to shiver badly, soaked. She didn't look back, didn't hear anyone behind her, yet still she felt that paranoia of needing to hurry, of possibly being chased. Ahead of her, west, Chicago's skyline was there, glowing with a million stars, lighting up the night, which hadn't quite retreated yet. Lake Shore Drive wound along the shore of Lake Michigan.
When Liza finally reached the shallow end, pushing more easily through the water, she looked back at the horizon and saw no sign of the three whom she'd plunged into the depths. They hadn't gone back up for air. It was as if they'd never been there at all. Her dress clung to her when she fell upon the sand, gasping, resting on her knees, shaking but feeling safe. She watched more lights move along the street ahead—even in the early morning, cars still drove from north to south and vice versa.
As she watched them go, she thought that she saw horses on the road too—trotting solo or in pairs, sometimes in fours. She thought that she heard the dull clopping of their hooves, and whinnies and snorts from their muzzles. Entranced by the lights, she decided that they didn't come from taillights within the front of vehicles, no. They came from oil lamps that hung from carriages. The horses pulled these carriages. And large wheels ground against the gravel, not asphalt.
And yet, the skyscrapers of the future still stood behind Lake Shore Drive. Somehow, two completely different centuries came impossibly together. It was as if they'd never existed apart. It was as if they belonged, both in color, twinkling with yellow specks.
She hugged herself and watched, not knowing for how long, or how short. There was a soft splash behind her.
She noticed that the shore, the sand, began to gain color—a deep orange. Turning around, holding her breath, she saw that the sun began to stretch upward there under the sky. And the lake started to glow. The water was stirring.
She was frozen in place. Something—somethings—began to rise up from the waves. Three bodies. Having been submerged, they now also glowed. They were revived. They were new. They were reborn. They wore white now, too. As if Liza had baptized them.
Their arms were spread, their attention on the girl, who was on the shore. They were smiling. The sun enveloped them. Liza had to shield her eyes. She watched them between her fingers, squinting until her eyes began to water and then she couldn't see them at all, the sun was so bright. It was rising so fast now. She hadn't realized that she was being lifted off of her knees until someone moved her hands for her.
Her retinas burned. Brine leaked out the corners of her gaze. Whoever was there, holding her up—she forced herself to see.
Her sight was blurry at first. She rubbed at it to clear it. A face, a man's face, with bright skin and piercing dark eyes, gazed at her. He had a strong jaw, and she noticed a small birthmark on his cheek, under his left eye. The color in his gaze revealed streaks of a rich brown in the light.
Liza, with her cheeks wet, realized that it was Elijah.
###
The first night after the incident in the alley, the storm, and the vampire's arrival, was hazy, and Liza slept well into the next day. Ollie had off from work, so she kept watch. The vampire hadn't come back. But there had been a crime scene investigation up the street, while it continued to rain. Ollie stayed away from that but saw on the news, and if there had been an evidence trail that led down the street to their quaint graystone, the rain had washed it away. Or maybe the vampire took care of it, as they often did.
Liza didn't leave her room except to use the bathroom. Ollie obligingly walked Ramsey, as she often did anyway. Between doing various menial tasks that she needed to get done during her off day, and making sure that her friend was still breathing, she managed to get Liza to eat a few times.
It helped that Ollie was a self-proclaimed gourmand, and her food was better than those served at most restaurants—at least that was the biased opinion of most people who knew her. Borsch might've been awfully stereotypical to make—like chicken noodle with Americans—but Ollie's borsch was, in fact, hard to trump.
The key was the meat—Ollie got hers from a butcher. In this case, it was sirloin. The warm, delicious aroma of her cooking lasted an entire day.
After eating some of the deep red soup, Liza had promptly buried herself back in her bed, under the covers, and went back to sleep. Unbeknownst to her, Ollie had taken the bottle of Xanax away. But after taking it twice during the night to calm herself after a fit of nightmares, Liza hadn't reached for it, again, anyway. Ollie let her be for the most part. Liza had called off work at some point, feigning sick, and aside from Liza's mom calling, no one else bothered her.
"Ya zaboléla, mama," she'd told her mother. I got sick. It wasn't, however, hard to project a miserable quality in her voice.
A storm was rolling through the Midwest. Elsewhere through the state, there were power outages and tornado warnings. In the city, it was very much sleepy, don't-wanna-get-out-of-bed weather. Aside from when Ollie was in the kitchen, Ramsey hadn't minded at all when Liza kept him hidden in her bed right along with her. Akitas could be surprisingly lazy.
His owner's sleep had been peaceful one moment, and then turbulent the next. Rams withstood the tossing and turning, and the occasional, accidental hit upside the head with her foot—even though he was jarred awake each time.
Liza always had vivid dreams—this wasn't new. But the nightmare after nightmare that played inside her traumatized mind was an occurrence that hadn't happened in some time. Not since… Well, not since her grandmother had died.
At first, she saw the alleyway and her two assailants, replayed the moment many times over until different outcomes blurred together, but several constants remained: She was still assailed each time, forced toward that car, which loomed ahead like a shadowed monster with big, white eyes, and Elijah still arrived.
Sometimes, he had failed at stopping the men, and she had reached inside the car, which was smelly, and garbage-filled, with stenches of smoke, sweat, and booze. There were cigarette butts and used condoms, and her mind had even conjured some other girl's bra and panties on the car floor. All before Liza had found herself waking up altogether. Fortunately, any rape that she'd thought would happen to her hadn't happened in her nightmares. However, all of it was terrifying, nonetheless.
Other times, she was the one who'd gotten the two guys off of her, had used her power to kill them, and then had knocked Elijah back before he could even get to her. One variation included Elijah's own death—a piece of wood had gone through his chest when he'd crashed into the trash cans. He'd died. She'd stood over him in the rain, feeling triumphant.
Then she dreamt of her grandmother, saw visions that were most unbearable. The dreams had Liza waking up with her heart jackhammering inside her chest. The old woman, Valeria, was alive another nightmare, yet shouldn't have been, and Liza hadn't realized it right away. Her father was there, Valeria's son, and it was he who pointed out the rotting smell that was coming from his own mother. They'd been sitting on a couch somewhere, which her grandmother had stained with putrid, bodily juices. The smell was so real that Liza felt nauseous when she woke up.
In a similar dream, her grandmother was, again, alive. It had been a parallel universe, not Liza's own, yet so real. They'd drank tea and ate pastries when Liza paused, looked up at her grandmother's face, and it was frozen, like a statue with blank eyes.
Another dream showed a family crypt that didn't exist in reality, with little graves around the stone building, and inside, piles and arrangements of bones, lay in grids, tiny candles burning for each of the dead. Members of her family who were alive walked through aisles, dipped fingers in ash, tasted them, and told her to do the same. Grief could conjure the most bizarre visions.
Russian witches did not have crypts, did not have awful rituals for those passed, and they certainly didn't consume the remains. Liza woke up, feeling the chill of sweat, and hugged Ramsey tightly until he grunted sleepily, and she buried her face into the thick red fur of his neck. Whether it was day or night, it was hard to tell, because her curtains were drawn, and the rain and dark clouds obscured the sun.
The dream of the lake, the horses and carriages, and the three figures, one of whom was Elijah, didn't occur until the next day when Ollie had to go to work. Liza had called in sick again. There could've been a risk of being fired, but the girl didn't care, not right then. The strange dream, which was very much unlike the other ones, had Liza waking up a little past noon.
It was still raining, for she heard the drumming on her window. Listening to it, she had lain in bed, the dream still fresh and vivid in her mind—particularly Elijah's face, how clear his features were, all of the details, details that she hadn't noticed that other night because she had barely been able to look at him.
She felt disturbed, more disturbed from this dream than those that replayed the attack in the alley, or the obscurities about her grandmother. There was another feeling that she felt—one which she couldn't quite explain. The sight of Chicago's skyline and the carriages was particularly mesmerizing, but the whole procession in the lake had perturbed her.
In the dream, she had known what to do and yet hadn't known why she did what she did. When the three people had come back out of the water with the rising sun, Liza didn't remember being afraid, nor was she scared when she saw Elijah's face so close to her own.
###
The third day, with Ollie working again, as it was a new week, Liza left her room. That day, it no longer rained. The sun had come out and brightened the apartment several shades. The streaks of light cast a warmth through the windows, stripes across the hardwood. Ramsey followed Liza into the kitchen, where she drank a glass of water, and he waited for her to fill his food bowl after. While he ate, she went to take a shower.
In the bathroom, she tried not to look at herself in the mirror. But this did prove to be futile because after she'd turned on the shower and waited for the water to heat up, she caught a glimpse of her pale face, dull eyes, and the overall sad expression of someone who had just wallowed in misery for two days straight.
Although the incident in the alley was a duller memory now, it was still fresh, as was the rest of it. She just couldn't remain shut inside her room any longer.
Perhaps it was that dream that had changed something in her, had pulled her out of bed. It helped her diverge her thoughts away from that stormy night. She replayed the strange baptism, and unlike most dreams, the specifics didn't fade away—from the faces of the other strange man and woman; his smirk, her blonde hair; the glow of the oil lamps against a backdrop of skyscrapers; to Elijah, how he smiled in the sunlight.
The uneasy feeling never went away, but the longer that she thought about it all, the more Liza believed that every detail had been a sign, perhaps. As uncomfortable as she felt, it was like she was stepping into a river that was going to flow ahead whether she wanted it to or not, and there was nothing that she could do about it. She'd once been taught to look at signs.
She couldn't decipher any of it—if there was anything to decipher.
After her shower, hair still damp, Liza leashed up an ecstatic Ramses and took him outside. He pulled her down the stairs, hard, and when the warm spring air greeted them, he quickly stepped into the plants in the small front yard and had a very long piss.
Feeling bad, Liza took him onto the street. He deserved a long walk. And somehow, the daylight made her feel safer. She went toward the Bryn Mawr train stop, then turned toward the lake. It was a shorter walk than normal, just a few blocks-worth around the taller residential buildings, but it was long enough that Rams was panting by the end, tongue flopping out. He had marked nearly every tree, fire hydrant, and even a few blooming flowers.
Liza felt marginally better by the time they neared their home again. Once they were back upstairs, she would fix herself something to eat and would figure out how to put her life in order after being absent from the world. But no sooner had she made the plan in her mind than Ramsey halted in his tracks, two houses away from their graystone, and her breath caught. The dog looked across the street, his normally-curled tail flattening.
She didn't want to see what he saw, who was there, tried not to, but it was hard. Before she could stop herself, she turned her head. A nearby tree and its branches briefly blocked her view, but as they moved with the wind, there she saw him.
Elijah. But how? Out in daylight?
Stunned merely by that, Liza stared at him, and he gazed back at her, his face neutral. The thought that her mind was playing tricks on her did, very briefly, try to assure her that this wasn't possible. When she glanced away, she hoped that when she looked back, he would be gone. But when her gaze returned, he was still there, standing across the street on the sidewalk. A few people passed him.
Because Ramsey was now ruff'ing, Liza knew this was no delusion. And so, she turned sharply and yanked her dog after her. She did not look back once. She took them home. She convinced herself enough that they were safe inside, even though apparently the vampire didn't need further permission to enter the apartment. And he could be out in the day.
Once at home, she released Ramsey from the leash and slowly moved further into the place. She put her hands on the back of the couch, gripping a cushion, in the middle of the room so that no one on the street below could see her. She watched as Ramsey, wound up, paced, whining, looked out one window, then moved through the apartment to look out the others.
She stood there, watching the Akita, for a good, long fifteen minutes, very still, trying to decide what to do. Whether to text Ollie at work. Whether to just stay inside, lock all the doors, and to keep away from the windows. Whether to just crawl back into bed, underneath the covers and not to come out.
Liza did ultimately go to her room. Part of her really did want to lock herself up again. Instead, however, she went to her dresser and rummaged through the second drawer and found a small, lacquered black box among mostly-folded shirts. A scene out of a Russian fairytale was painted on the lid. A box like this was as common as those matryoshka dolls tourists bought, but this one was special.
When she found what she needed inside of it, she left. The girl clutched a necklace in her palm. A silver chain dangled between her clenched fingers. Ramsey, by the front windows, watched her take her keys again, where she'd left them on a small table by the door along with the dog's leash. She was leaving again.
Obviously, he wanted to go with her too, but this time Liza said, "No. Stay here." Her pulse thudded in her ears, and yet some sort of determination gripped her. She opened her hand, and a crystal, about an inch long, hung off of the chain.
It was a shard of titanium aura quartz. A thin, silver wire held it securely to the chain, wrapping around the crystal halfway. Even though the stone had uneven ridges and was cut far from perfect, it was still beautiful—it shone blue, green, purple, even yellow, in the light, like an oil slick.
Liza did not put it on around her neck, but she did stuff it inside her pant pocket. The girl briefly looked inside the little closet in the foyer. She took out a dark blue, knee-length trench coat, deciding to put it over the henley and jeans she wore. Maybe the high collar, a la Sherlock Holmes, would make her feel more secure—a coat that would cover most of her body, at least. Or maybe Liza was just grappling at finding something else to make her feel safe. More like ease her mind.
That is if the vampire was still out there. If he wasn't, she'd immediately go back inside. If he was still there, Liza would stomach any fear for the sake of that dream. She was following her gut now. As she descended down the stairs and looked out the front door, she half wondered what Ollie would do.
No time for that. Liza's thoughts were frantic. She stepped out, wrapped her arms around herself, and looked up at the swaying trees that lined the street. She paused to ground herself in the scenery, to take it in again. Ramsey was already at the bay windows above, watching her, alert. It was a particularly breezy day. The trees' leaves and other plants were lush after the rain. The air smelled of a coolness that carried from the lake.
Looking across the street, she saw that Elijah wasn't there after all. Shocked by this, she just stood there, in front of her building, for a long moment, and held herself tighter. She wasn't sure whether to feel stupid—maybe he had been a figment of her imagination because vampires weren't supposed to walk in daylight—and to turn back, or whether to wait and just see what would happen.
She looked down the sidewalk, up the street, north, where she hadn't gone during her walk with Ramsey. Then, she looked the other way, where the majority of cars were, just a little way down—the busy intersection in front of the El station that took her to work in downtown.
She saw a group of people, who were distinct enough in color by what they wore. She watched them. They all went in opposite directions. None of them were Elijah, even as a man walked in her direction up the sidewalk. It was not him, for this guy was in sweatpants, a red Loyola University shirt, and had a bag on his back.
She started turning back to go home when she saw the vampire up the other way, which had just been empty. The sight of him made her gasp, even as he was a good fifty feet away. Her gaze quickly darted to her graystone, its door. It was that thing that his kind did, snuck up on you like that. She hadn't met many vampires at all, but everyone knew the stereotypes.
The girl remained in place, glanced between the vampire and the graystone again, back and forth, for Ramsey was started to make noise.
When Elijah got within hearing distance, words tumbled from her mouth. She said, "My dog doesn't like you," with a matter-of-fact tone, which she forced upon her voice.
Elijah didn't answer right away, if only because he wasn't expecting her to say that. "Yes, well, I've never been a dog person," was his cool response as he slowed to a stop, not too close, not too far from her. About seven feet away.
Liza looked down the street again, squinting in the wind, even though rationally she probably shouldn't have taken her eyes off of him. "Ramsey doesn't like most men, so it's not too surprising," she said.
Elijah briefly glanced to where she was looking. He put his hands in the pockets of his slacks. He wore no coat today, just another black suit, this time with a gray shirt underneath and a darker gray tie, which wouldn't stay still and whipped about. That college kid with the backpack neared. Both stepped out of his way as he passed.
Liza looked anywhere but at the vampire's face, which was too real, too much like that of her dream.
A ring that he wore caught her attention. It was on the middle finger of his left hand. It had a small, circular stone in it, which shone blue. She recognized it as lapis lazuli. She knew the properties of most minerals and crystals. Did it allow him to walk in the day? Different stones did different things, much like the one in her pocket, which she touched idly. Lapis lazuli was used in complicated spells.
Elijah decided to change the subject as he returned his eyes to her. "I honestly didn't think that you'd give me another chance."
Liza did a doubletake. Now she hadn't expected him to say that. She wasn't going to tell him about the dream, didn't even consider it. Crossing her arms again, she started walking away from her place and toward the intersection and the train station—to the people. People equaled safety. Usually.
"That night...before—with those two men," she started.
Elijah walked with her in stride. His voice softened just slightly, but enough for her to notice. "I wish I arrived there sooner."
"You killed them," she said flatly.
He hesitated but then said, "Yes. They're gone."
Liza nodded. Maybe if she was a better person, more selfless, she'd tell him that he shouldn't have done that—taken their lives—but she would've been lying if she said she wasn't grateful. Before Elijah had gotten there and saved her, she had thought she was doomed. Those two guys had just been too strong, their strength combined. She wasn't exactly muscled, far from it. Women being cornered at night when they least expected it—it was the sort of thing you heard about but never thought would happen to you, too. Until it did happen.
Not looking at Elijah, she said quietly: "Thank you."
He hadn't expected that answer. An eyebrow raised a bit, and he asked, "How are you feeling now?"
"Fine," was her short reply. Her gaze was wary as she watched him out of her peripheral vision. She opened her mouth, then closed it, stumbling over her words now. Her heart rate wouldn't slow down. "I don't know how to help you."
He was watching her. She wouldn't dare meet his gaze for longer than a split moment. Vampires could compel witches. As they passed the residential homes, nearing busy Bryn Mawr Avenue, she thought that they couldn't get there fast enough. She spotted a bench up ahead by Nookies, out in the open, so to speak, without any trees or bushes shielding it from view. She started leading them in its direction, whether he'd want to go there or not. She didn't care to ask.
She heard Elijah behind her: "I was hoping that we could figure that out together." He caught up with her easily, seemingly not minding the change of direction. "Your grandmother…" he started carefully.
He was polite, she'd give him that. It did make this easier, but it also didn't because Liza still couldn't look at Elijah square in the face. He was intimidating. Maybe it was the suit. "She was crazy," she replied dismissively.
"How so?" Elijah's voice was as breezy as the air.
Liza slowed her pace several feet away from the bench, looking out into the street, hiding her face, her tone hollow. "She had a hard life, after the war. I mean, World War 2. Her birth father tried to commit suicide. She married an asshole, my grandfather. She was the only witch in the family. Back in those times, religion wasn't the only thing outlawed. She kept it secret for most of her life."
Elijah, on the other hand, regarded her steadily. "I can only imagine. It was one of the worst periods in human history. I remember it."
Liza couldn't help but scoff. "Of course, you do." Unable to retract her retort, she looked up at him and then lowered her eyes. If she offended him, he didn't show it. Unwinding her arms, she stepped around the bench to take a seat on the very edge.
Elijah leisurely walked around the other side. Liza sighed and looked down at her lap, then went on: "Her life is a long story." Out of the corner of her gaze, she saw him sit, leaving enough space between them, for which she was glad.
The girl licked her lips, narrowing her brows, and continued: "But I was the only person in our family, my dad's side, who showed any signs of-of magic, after she did, and when she tried to teach me, when I was a child, people didn't let her. She said a lot of crazy things, and I didn't end up being good at it, anyway." Her expression was very serious, very Russian. She had an angular profile, a sharp chin and a sharp nose, which had a slight bump. She intertwined her fingers in her lap. They were cold, despite the warm temperature.
"Magic?" Elijah prompted her.
"Yes." She looked at the street, squinting, for the sun had come out fully behind the white clouds.
"How so?"
She tried hard to sound detached. "My education was pretty bad. Also, my mom's side of the family is religious. I think you can put two and two together." She wrung her fingers, her body tensing. She went on before he said anything: "So I don't know how to help you, Elijah. I'm sorry. I have no idea why my grandmother would say that I am...I am destined to help out you and your family—because I can barely levitate a glass of water without having it break. When I knocked you back in that alley, I didn't mean it."
"It was instinctual, I know." Elijah sounded sympathetic, truly. He lifted his elbow on the back of the bench.
Liza kept looking ahead. Emotion hardened her voice. "I can't control my power even if I wanted to. I haven't practiced in a long time, and lately… Well, lately the only thing I'm good for is making Ollie that wolfsbane so she doesn't bite my head off twice a month."
This made Elijah tense. "Are you really safe with her?" he asked, quite concerned.
And now, Liza looked at him. She met his gaze at last, wondering if she should be offended. "Yes. Am I safe with you now?" she responded without thought.
"You're right. You hardly know me," the man said without missing a beat.
Perhaps it was the wave of distrust that emboldened her. "No, I don't know you at all," she said. "And you don't know Ollie."
Elijah was first to break their eye contact—as if accepting defeat. He looked somewhere at the ground before them. "I apologize, my kind has always been at odds with your friend's. I should give her the benefit of the doubt since that is what you're giving me right now."
A moment of silence. Liza studied him, her breathing shallow, her blood still thrumming in her ears. She tried to spot deceit beneath that contrite exterior of his, tried to spot any evidence of something, a vibe, perhaps, that suggested ulterior motives, anything disingenuous. She couldn't find anything. He looked genuinely...genuine.
Elijah's gaze returned to hers and then she looked away. "How many family members do you have?" she asked.
"Alive?" He looked up at the sky, squinting. "A younger brother—his name is Niklaus. And sister—she's the youngest. Rebekah."
Liza unclenched her hands, which were clammy. "Where are they?" she asked with less heat. In the dream, there were two others, a man, and a woman, along with Elijah. That made three.
"Elsewhere," he said quickly. "They won't bother you, I promise."
"Only you are, right?" Liza quipped dryly.
He caught her side glance. "I'm...the more rational one of the three of us."
She turned her head the opposite way, the wind blowing the ends of her hair, which were still damp from her shower. She took in a deep breath. Their civilized conversation wasn't relaxing her.
"Listen, Elijah, even as you try to assure me that nothing is going to happen and that you just want to find out what I'm supposed to be capable of, how I could help you and your siblings," she tucked her hair behind her ear, casting another sidelong glance, "don't tell me that I'm safe and that everything is going to be fine, because I'm not naive."
Again, that guilt shone through. Elijah even frowned as he quickly said, "I never said that you were."
Liza went on, not yelling, but with passion in her voice. "I was safe before I met you, before I saw you at my work and you bought that tea from me. I was getting by. Ollie and I were living our lives—roommates—minding our own business. She had her shit, I had mine, and now we could be involved in something that we don't want to be. And if we really don't have a choice, if I don't have a choice, don't try to sugarcoat any of this. Please."
He saw the emotion in her brown eyes, the same depth that he saw when he'd watched her the first night after she was done with the dishes and the train had gone by as she stared at it. But now her gaze was filled with unease. He noticed that she was clenching the edge of the bench. "I apologize. I won't," he said softly.
Liza made fists in her lap. "I don't want anything to happen to Ollie or those we care about. I don't want anything happening to me."
Elijah turned in his spot, fully facing her. "I cannot promise that your lives—yours especially—will go back to normal any time soon, but I promise you, Liza, that I will keep you safe, to the best of my ability, while we figure out what exactly you are capable of."
"You and your family are...vampires," she said pointedly.
"I frighten you." It was a statement, not a question.
"And did you think otherwise?" she scoffed again. "You can rip my throat out at any time."
"I won't do that."
"I'm sorry. I...don't believe you. Even-even after you saved me." She was standing up, breathing hard, her chest rising and falling underneath her coat. She looked down at the vampire, his unfathomably deep eyes swallowing her up, figuratively. She noticed that he did have a birthmark, a faint one, underneath his left eye. She shuddered outwardly.
After the beat of silence that was ushered in between them, he said, "You will have to trust me."
She said nothing, her heart having skipped a beat. Elijah narrowed his gaze slightly, as if he was trying to see inside her soul again.
"And perhaps, you should start practicing," he added lightly. Then in a lowered tone: "Magic, I mean."
Liza tore her attention away from him. "Maybe. I'm going to go."
And not knowing what to say next, what to do, she just started walking away, unable to gather her composure. She should've stayed inside. Her hand slid over the front of her jeans, feeling that crystal, wondering if it had helped at all to have it on her.
The vampire watched her go home. He'd heard her heart the entire time. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't block it out. He vexed her. Maybe he even scared her anew. And he didn't blame her. He completely understood. He didn't, however, understand what got her to leave her home so courageously. He hadn't expected her to step outside again, to meet him. He could only imagine that her emotions were all over the place.
He knew that he had made a mistake, or...then again, maybe he hadn't. The girl hadn't called him out on his watching of her. It was probably one of the things that unsettled her most. He knew he shouldn't have let himself get caught by her goddamn dog again. Then again, it did allow them a conversation, hadn't it? Even though it was too late to take anything back, maybe this was a good thing.
She disappeared past the trees. Between the branches, not close enough for the human eye, he saw her walk inside her graystone. He fixed his suit jacket as he stood from the bench. Then before he had time to react, he heard a voice behind him.
"So, this is why you're here, brother—because of a girl."
Elijah closed his eyes briefly...before turning around to face Niklaus, who spread his arms, a grin on his face. Watching his older brother's priceless expression, Klaus stepped toward him, clasping a hand on his shoulder. Elijah scowled at him.
"And here I thought you preferred ladies with PhDs, or...librarians. Don't know what to make of that one." Klaus looked down the sidewalk, in the direction that Liza had gone. "Do tell me what has you intrigued about her. Must be something certainlyone-of-a-kind if it has you here in this city longer than necessary."
Before Elijah could knock his hand off, Klaus quickly took it back, chuckling, and looked around the street. The sun that beamed down on them made Klaus' hair shine like gold. He was dressed in a light brown leather jacket, matching boots, expensive of course, and a plain dark green t-shirt underneath that had costed way more than necessary.
Elijah's face was blank. "How did you find me?"
"Oh, Marcellus texted me a few days ago," Klaus answered cheerfully. Then dramatically: "You do know what texting is, right? It's where you type—anything you want, really—into your phone, and you can send the message to someone, and they receive it instantly, even add animated pictu—"
"I'm busy," Elijah cut him off. "And it's not what you think, Niklaus. Why don't you go see your progeny, and I'll meet you later?" He glanced away, sounding vaguely distracted there at the tail end.
Klaus cocked his head and raised his voice as if he was offended. "What, I can't come see my big brother first? Isn't saying "hi," to you just slightly more important, Elijah?" Klaus reached toward him again, but Elijah caught his hand mid-air, annoyed.
"Niklaus, I'm not in the mood. I need you to stay out of my business."
"Ouch, that hurts," Klaus said, his blue eyes shining in the sunlight, yet narrowed. Elijah released his hand.
Impatient (which he mostly was when he was around his little brother), he stepped past Niklaus when his gaze had gone back to where Liza's home was. "Brother, I rarely ask anything of you. I need you to leave me alone. Just this once."
"But I haven't seen you in ages!" Klaus went on, a smart ass.
Elijah shoved his hands into his pockets. "It's been only a few months," he said, unconcerned.
"Do you know how badly I've missed our little adventures?"
"No," the older Mikaelson said curtly.
"What's this "business" you're attending to if it's not actually how it looks like?" Klaus persisted, "If you're not really stalking that girl. Does she live up there?" He tried to see past his brother again, but Elijah put a hand on his chest this time and pushed him back.
"I will fill you in only when the time is right, Niklaus," Elijah said firmly. Klaus rolled his eyes.
"Oh, whatever."
Elijah took him by the upper arm, face close to his. "I promise. The situation is delicate as of right now."
A cheeky smirk tugged the younger brother's face. "I'm sure it is...quite delicate indeed, dear Elijah."
Elijah raised a finger of his other hand, took in a breath, and opened and closed his mouth. As he regarded Niklaus, searching his face— Hell, who was he kidding? Would Niklaus stay away? It was like telling a terrible little boy not do something, which would only prompt said boy to do exactly what you didn't want him to do. In that respect, Niklaus was insufferable.
He yanked his arm from Elijah's grasp, all the mirth gone from his face. "You are prat."
"I'm a prat?" Elijah said incredulously. He looked at the busy street, past the people, not anywhere specific, really. Then with a sigh of resignation, he said, "Look, Niklaus, that girl could be very important to us. Important to our family."
Klaus finally looked serious. "All right. How?"
Returning his gaze to meet his, Elijah admitted, "I don't know yet."
Niklaus threw his head back and laughed. "That's because you were stalking her," he said. "Creep."
"I was not!" Elijah trudged past him toward the intersection. Luckily, Klaus followed him and didn't go to where the girl was, caught in another fit of laughter. He put his arm around Elijah's shoulders, only to have his big bro shove him away.