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QuantumVisionary Novels by Karen R. ThorneSome titles not yet released.
For a complete list and to order, visit the author’s website
www.krthorne.com
where you can also download free samples, read blog posts,and keep up with all the latest exciting offerings!
Paranormal Alternate Reality SeriesGiving Up the Ghost: The WalkIn
BLUE thread reality – Book One of the Alternate Reality Series
Giving Up the Ghost: The WalkInGREEN thread reality – Book One of the Alternate Reality Series
Hearing Voices: WalkIns WelcomeBLUE thread reality – Book Two of the Alternate Reality Series
Hearing Voices: Coming HomeGREEN thread reality – Book Two of the Alternate Reality Series
Giving Up the Ghost: The WalkIn The EVPsmp3s – available at www.krthorne.com
Marek: Diary of a WalkIn
Ghost Matter: The Story of OberonA QuantumVisionary Timebending Exploration
MusicGilding a Darksome Heaven (The Orchid)
Forsaken Sparrows in the Garden of Winter
The Devil’s Caprice
FantasyDartfoil
Dralácri (Tears of the Dragon)
Supernatural/Otherworldly BeingsReflections of a Vampire
A Metaphysical Metaphor
Paradigm Swift
Reflections of a VampireCOPYRIGHT © 1996, 2014 Karen R. Thorne
4th Edition Copyright ©2014All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced by any means or in any form, in whole or in part (beyond that copying permitted by U.S. Copyright Law, Section 107, “fair use” in teaching or research, Section 108, certain library copying, or in published media by reviewers in limited excerpts, without written permission from the publisher.
THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION.ANY RESEMBLANCE TO PERSONS LIVING OR DEAD IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.
PUBLISHED BY
VISUALLUSIONS LIGHTSOURCE PUBLISHINGGOLDEN, CO
Printed in the United States of America
Cover images: Sunshine Through Ancient Abbey Window by mattack, http://www.sxc.hu/photo/561281Winter Swamp by goblinstock, http://goblinstock.deviantart.com/art/Winter-Swamp-4-184491455
Drac Bride by Marcus Ranum, http://mjranum-stock.deviantart.com Back cover image: Sad Angel Stock by ashensorrow http://deviantart.com/art/Sad-Angel-Stock-169211318
Fog brushes by elizavet.deviantart.comDoves brushes by lexana.deviantart.com
Cover Design by Karen R. ThorneCreated in GIMP
And he took the cup, and gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying,Drink ye all of it;
For this is my blood of the new testament,which is shed for many.
-Matthew 26:27-28 (KJV)
Do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of me.-I Corinthians 10.5:25 (NIV-IBS)
About the Author
Welcome, Visionaries!
I am on a mission: To inspire the human spirit by challenging the mind and heart. My goal is shifting paradigms, moving from what has been to what can be.
Throughout all my stories you will find a world in which a greater, mystical Intelligence is at play (without the confines of religion), where violence is not the answer and Love restores the wholeness of Who we are.
“My lord, I should be sorry if I only entertained them; I wished to make them better.”— George Frederick Handel
All my stories are given to me by my wonderful Inner Muses. These Messengers introduce me to these amazing other-world people, and then the people tell me their story. You see, for me, all these stories are real—the people, the places, and everything that happens in them—somewhere, in some plane of existence. (I know this because if I try to change it, they fight me on it!) My job is to transcribe the stories they tell me so I can share them with you.
My Writing is Not for Everyone
I write for Visionaries, people who look beyond to see a better world than this one, not by doing more of the same but by challenging the status quo, often breaking the rules in favor of a new and better way. Those who no longer wait for someone else to tell them what to do or grant permission, but instead are willing to think for themselves, to listen to the Voice within, and go for it.
21st century trailblazers, quantum-style!
Are you with me?
Karen R. Thorne is a Visionary novelist living in Denver, CO. A graduate of The N. C. School of the Arts (Cello) and former member of the American Association of Electronic Voice Phenomena (AAEVP), she has been crafting Visionary novels since 1994.
Visit her on the web at
www.krthorne.com
Reflections are not always what they seem.
The mirror of these wordsreflects a deeper image
for those inclined to see.Yet not so much a mirror as a shimmering illusion
a pond, a lake, an oceana substantial surface seeming so,
until a shift in vision alters it.
The depths revealed go ever deeper;how far, only the seeker knows.
What can be found beneath, below, behind?
Ah, the great mystery within—monsters of the depths, or angelsdevils in a human’s guise.
Gods, myths, antiquated legendsperhaps . . . the demon one fears most.
The hunter of the hunted, the stalker of the stalkedand the shudder of realisation
that the demon who so terrifiesis the reflection of you.
Such is the Powerto see through the illusionat once knowing
that all is as We have created it.
For good or for evil, for love or for hateThe choice is always Ours
for we are allOne
And the Beloved has always been you.
INTROIT
I remember. . . .Pulling me closer, deathcold hands, razored nails, don’t stop.
Sandpaper fingers tracing along my pulsing vein, curling under my chin, tell me more, lifting me slowly, tell me all. Greeneyed gaze latching onto mine—and then he looks me dead in the eye and whispers, “Yes!”
A stab piercing my soul, a sensation like being punched in the gut. Breathlessness, as in a falling dream, whisked back, oh god, back to that night. . . .
The room of my childhood, the gaslights darkened, the last streaks of crimson and purple and amber slipping silently into the waiting arms of darkness. A cool nighttime breeze wafts from across the Sussex countryside (no—he cannot—he mustn’t!) through the open window, whispering of crisp apples and fallen leaves, of the nearby stable stalls and bales of hay, and that soft scent that is not a scent: the unmistakable fragrance of him, as he sits in silence, awaiting my answer.
Nervously I move to sit beside him—(please stop) . . . at first no words come. The breath as it goes in and out of my nose is sharp and cold and biting, acidic as it rushes across the delicate inner
4 Reflections of a Vampire
membranes, searing my throat. My lungs are constricted, suffocating, my entrails burning amidst the blaze of this horrific unknown, my skin pale and moist as an exposed soft oyster of mortal flesh, vulnerable as my hummingbird heart.
Then, taking a deep breath, I utter the words that will change my life forever:
“Make me what you are!”He does not move.Moonlight breaks through the scudding clouds, caressing the
curve of his perfect cheek, reflecting like liquid glass in those great obsidian eyes. “Fine is the line between life and death,” he says. The velvet words are slow and ponderous. “You understand what it is you ask of me? I am no ordinary vampire,” he reminds me yet again. “Our Kind must uphold a Sacred Duty, living in absolute secrecy, Our lives endangered not by mortals but by other vampires. Those who are not like Us,” here his voice deepens, “who would seek to take that which they cannot have. A Power that, misused, could easily destroy the world—”
“Do it,” I urge, my body trembling. “Do it now!”Black eyes hold my soul . . . for a moment I fear he will refuse.
“Once I drink from this cup,” he says, “there is no turning back.”Amelia! comes my drunken father’s voice.“Hurry, my love,” I whisper.Several more moments pass. Then at last the beautiful smile
lights his face. Soft white ruffles of his shirt caress my cheek, his unearthly heat enveloping me as he eases one arm around and beneath me, pulling me to him, gazing down with that familiar gentleness.
And then:Stabs of whitehot fire, swift as lightning, my mortality
shattered in an instant by the exquisite scarlet pain of his fangs sinking gently into my flesh. A scream slices the air, unbidden and unstoppable—yet it is but a mere whisper amidst the panic racing through my emptying veins. I struggle frantically, but I am like a
Karen R. Thorne 5
moth without wings; blackness engulfs me, the vermilion heat of those tiny living daggers severing me, piercing me to my very core.
It is the moment I die . . . and am born again!He pulls me closer, tighter, his satiny lips caressing me as he
drains my lifeblood, the pain crushing and absolute. The elastic moment expands and slows in the thickness of my mind, each beat of my heart a thousand years long as it echoes in the nighttime stillness.
“Be strong, my love!” I can hear Adrian say.Or did I imagine it?A hundred thousand things flash through my mind: our
family’s sprawling Victorian estate, with the servants and the horses and the china and silver at every meal before we had to sell it all. Mamma reading by winter’s hearth; sunlight the colour of my sister Leslie’s hair as she picks wildflowers under a bright azure sky. But most of all, the velvet lullaby of my brother Andrew’s voice, his slender fingers combing through my hair as he gently sings me to sleep.
Sleep I long for now—or else wake from this hellish nightmare!But wait. Somewhere, faraway, someone is . . . praying. I can
almost catch the words—but the thunderous scream of my heart reverberates in my skull. With each thud of my heartbeat a great rush of that crimson stream steals my vital essence, and I am fast slipping into the maelstrom of eternal darkness.
“Amelia, stay with me.” Adrian’s voice, distant, dim; yet it is inside my head.
Let me sleep, I want to say. Please, just let me sleep.Terribly difficult now to remember what he had told me, so
heavy is the lethargy that overpowers my intention. And I can hear the voices, a chorus softly praying:
The Lord is my Shepherd, they whisper.Fields of flowers, warm spring air. Jesus holding my hand as
we walk together in the sunshine.I shall not want.
6 Reflections of a Vampire
So beautiful; the voices of angels! My soul sighs.He maketh me to lie down—Ahh, yes, lie down. So wonderful to lie down.—in green pastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters.Still waters. Floating in the softness, yes, yes! so dark, so quiet.
The colour of fine claret, cool and peaceful and safe.He restoreth my soul.The pain is dissipating, now little more than a dull ache from
afar. Anyway, I’ve nearly forgotten it, listening to the beautiful voices. . . .
“Amelia!”Adrian’s voice pulls me suddenly back, the sound jolting me
from my silvery dream. Instantly the heat is scorching my veins, my lifeblood draining away with unnatural and violent force.
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness.Dear God . . . what have I done? I have given up my soul!For His name’s sake, say the voices. Yea, though I walk through
the valley of the Shadow of Death—I am dying. Cold thought, fighting against it, but my strength is
all but gone.I will fear no evil.Evil! Oh, how could I have been so stupid. A vampire, for God’s
sake! Amelia, you fool. You pitiful, lovesick fool.For Thou art with me.Dear God help me, help me please! Death is a mere breath
away, and I am mortally terrified.“Amelia!” I can hear him, again and again, Adrian calling my
name. But I don’t want to listen. Nearly out of my mind with fear: fear of him, fear of death, fear of the unknown. Adrian is pulling me to him, lifting me as he drinks the last of my life away. Taking the only thing I have left, my precious lifeblood—
All at once he releases me.Limbs frozen, completely immobile, as if they belong to
someone else. Suspended, the small grain of my consciousness,
Karen R. Thorne 7
somewhere between here and there in a great void of blessed silence, the most tremendous sense of relief washing over me. My heart sings praises to God: Alleluia! Alleluia! Amen!
“Amelia.” Voice of my destroyer.No! I try to say. Leave me alone! I struggle in vain to open my
eyes, to look upon the fiend who has so evilly tricked me, who wants me to die.
“Drink, Amelia,” Adrian murmurs, pressing his wrist gently but firmly to my lips.
Fire again. Only this time it is sweet, rich, lush as it trickles onto my parched tongue. The Blood burns my lips, my mouth, sears my throat as it goes down as the sweet, sweet air had earlier. I want so much to pull away, to not drink this liquid evil, boiling fiery red.
And yet . . . it is exactly what I want! Pure, perfect, rapturous. Oh, I could drink it forever!
Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me, say the voices.Yes—comforting. It is . . . being wrapped in a warm blanket
after playing in the snow, sipping hot chocolate before a roaring fire, the rich hot broth Andrew is feeding me after they took Mamma away. Everything I have ever wanted and more!
Thou preparest a table before me.Food, drink, life, death. The Blood is all things at once, the
depth and the complexity of it overwhelming. Never could I have imagined it like this! The drumming of my heart gradually increases as I drink, and now I can hear Adrian’s heart keeping time with mine. Our hearts are singing wordless songs in unison, syncopated rhythms of colour and light, painting vivid and beautiful landscapes on the canvas of my soul.
In the presence of mine enemies . . . No, not an enemy. My saviour! I look up. How sweet and
gentle he is—my beautiful Adrian! How could I have ever doubted him? He is giving me this priceless gift, the Gift of Eternal Life!
8 Reflections of a Vampire
Never sickness or pain again, and Death no more than a harmless shadow.
Thou anointest my head with oil, sing the voices.On and on, drinking this rubescent splendour as if I could
never get enough.But then, all too soon, Adrian pulls away. The Cup of Life is
withdrawn; enormous, gaping, the emptiness left behind.A cry escapes my lips . . . a cry that I know is my own voice, yet
it has completely changed! Layers of sound, spilling out of me, a multitude of voices joined in a single tone ringing like bells from heaven.
But there is no time for reflection.“You must be strong, my love,” I hear Adrian say. “Again, my
love.” Pulling me close, no time to even breathe, his teeth once more sinking into my flesh. Plunging once more to the depths of agony, my life slipping away—life I had only just taken back! And the fear, the pain, the enormity of it the second time is even greater than the first.
Merciful God, I pray, take my life now and end this unbearable torment. But again, my cries fall on deaf ears. Over and over the blood is exchanged, and each time the immense power of its pull increases, until I am certain I will suffocate on that impassioned elixir of life.
My cup runneth over.My heart is screaming, I can’t, I can’t, no more! Yet it goes on
and on, this excruciating torment utterly intolerable, yet profoundly delicious. And Adrian, beauteous creature—my Adrian at last! Wanting to drink him up, to become part of him, for him to become part of me, two beings fused into one.
And then I realise: that is exactly what is happening.His Blood, my blood. Mortal and immortal, like wine sifted
between two chalices until it is thoroughly mingled, the blood of the one indistinguishable from the other, until it is no longer his
Karen R. Thorne 9
and mine, but ours—a magnificent third created from our ecstatic union.
Surely goodness and mercy . . .Wishing with all my heart that I could go back, that I had not
done this wretched thing. Mortal no more. Whispers of my former self, echoing as she bids me sad farewell. Poignant sorrow, though I do not know why.
Shall follow me . . .But oh, how I want this! Need it absolutely, must have it at any
cost. Eternity, Adrian, the Blood—I want more and more and more!
All the days of my life.Every cell of my body is lit with fire, sweet fire, the essence of
pure bliss as I lustily inhale this liquid paradise, exaltations of joy reverberating in the chambers of my soul.
And I will dwell . . .Adrian is moving away now, the exchange at last complete. A
monstrous abyss opens up, severing the bond of lust and love that had flowed through and around and between us in that precious river of Blood merging our separate souls. But the fire is beginning to diminish, waves of cool sighs swirling as they hold me aloft, weightless, wrapping me in their silky peace, echoing in the hollow space.
I am utterly alone.In the house of the Lord.Desperately I reach for Adrian, for the Blood that can quench
the consuming thirst. See him slowly shaking his head across a seemingly endless distance, his smile radiant with pure and perfect love. “Sleep now, my love.” So far away, the sound of his voice; never had I realised it was so beautiful! Perfectly clear, a chiming bell softly tolling. “Sleep the Sleep of Death until you awake, and do not be afraid.”
Beautiful Adrian!
10 Reflections of a Vampire
“You are mine now, as I am yours, and when you rise, we begin Life together.”
Forever, whisper the voices.Yes, I want to say. Unable to think now; utterly exhausted.
Slipping silkily down, down, down into the silence.But I’m afraid . . . Adrian?“Fear not, my love.” Whispering, the sound so soft I can barely
hear him, the darkness at last closing over me. “I am with you always.”
Amen.
The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want.
ONE
Two hours past sunset, 1 November, 2001
Los Angeles, California
My dearest Beloved,
A gentle rain cries down my windowpane tonight, as I write
these words to you. Soft rain, echoing the tears of my heart—tears
wept without ceasing over the loss of One so precious, as much as
for this shameless atrocity I must now commit. The unexpected
rain has stirred so many memories, so many bittersweet joys and
sorrows that at any moment I fear my Immortal heart will burst!
Yet even this I might ignore, were I not driven by such horror,
such utter dread that my body shudders even to think it.
He has returned.
As the last grey moments of twilight slipped silently into the
rainy darkness I awoke suddenly, smothering, my body bathed in
that menacing black chill that permeates the bones, a flood of tears
streaming down my face.
Again had I dreamed of the night of my Vampire birth. Relived
each razored moment in intimate, ghastly detail, every vile image
etched with masterful precision in the tenderest part of my
dreamer’s consciousness. Breathless and panicked I leapt to my
feet, fumbling, grasping, straining to see—my eyes did not want to
12 Reflections of a Vampire
open! And still I could hear that voice, those rippling haunted
whispers, calling to me, calling to me, sometimes sweet,
sometimes menacing, ever advancing yet never quite coming near.
Then, as my sleep-dulled senses gradually returned, emptiness
thudded hollow in my gut, the pale cruel hand of Death closing
upon my throat once more.
Merciless Death that will not let me die. . . .
No! I cried. Collapsing at the foot of the bed, dissolving into
tears as the rain beat down.
Oh my dearest, can you ever forgive me? Time has not been
kind to me. The hateful memories have refused to release their
vise-like grip, and even the day-sleep offers no respite. The dreams
that constantly fill my restless slumber are so terrifying, so vivid,
so utterly indistinguishable from reality I wake myself screaming,
not knowing if the sound issued from my throat or was but an
amorphous echo resounding within my head. Then as the fearful
waking hours pass I find I cannot shake the feeling—which leads
me to wonder if what is happening now is the dream. . . .
Yet how unlike a dream! For I could swear I were actually
there, with you, without you, reliving the night of my Vampire
birth—maddening, this! Will my past not leave me alone? As if I
must pay for my sin by being cursed with the pain of its memory
forever! A siren’s song drifting mournfully on a rainswept wind—
calling to me with your voice—a seduction so irresistible I cannot
escape it. As if each falling drop were a razor’s edge slicing at my
soul, poignant reminders of other evenings long ago, the
preciousness of your presence so close yet so agonisingly out of
reach. The rich earthen damp, the mingling of the old and the new,
endless leaves turning yellow all round as We stand motionless in
the silence. I watch the dim light flickering in your eyes; deep and
meaningful eyes, so filled with their silent entreaty, willing me to
know, willing me to understand. That same light reflecting in your
hair, dancing shadows in the folds of the white fabric in rhythm
with the rise and fall of your breathing, the almost imperceptible
Karen R. Thorne 13
movement beneath the softness of your shirt as my heart melts
shamelessly without even knowing why. And then the rise of an
ache brimming over, the longing to hold you once more, to again
know that place of love and safety and infinite comfort that is your
precious Self, my famished arms reach out—
But no one is there.
It is then that bitter reality returns. I come back to myself,
remembering where I am, what I am, and—forgive me if I shudder
—Who I have become. And the fact that I am utterly and eternally
alone.
Except . . . except for some indefinable something waiting
silently in the wet-black shadows.
For me.
I know what you must be thinking. Nightmares, strange memories,
enemies lurking in the rainy darkness—ravings of a lunatic, surely.
And the Others! What will They do when They find out, when They
learn that I have betrayed Our secrets to the world, violating the
sanctity which none of Us dare violate?
I resisted, of course. The very moment the wretched idea
insinuated itself into my head—this giddy, insane notion that was
at once thrilling and frightening, blasphemous and divine. No,
Amelia, no! Utterly absurd, impossible, ludicrous. I refused to
even consider it.
But it would not go away. Instead it followed me about,
nipping at my heels, whispering in my ear at the oddest times. I
began to see it in every face, as strangers took on an illusory
familiarity, eerily echoing my past as I walked amongst a mortal
society from which I had been forever outcast. Little nothings that
meant everything, shattered fragments of time: the soft sound of
someone’s voice, a feeling in the air, the barest whiff of masculine
fragrance so achingly reminiscent of you. Sometimes it was the
blare of rock music, the tinkle of a bell, the panting of a dog
14 Reflections of a Vampire
passing by—and once or twice (oh, dare I say it?) it seemed I felt a
hand in mine, a voice softly saying Come. . . .No, I would insist. I cannot do it! I cannot go back. But I did,
every time I lay my weary head upon the satin pillow.
The downpour is growing harder now, tiny fists hammering at
the glass. Mesmerising, watching them explode against the pane in
their fearless act of self-sacrifice. Yet even as they drip down into
the puddles that are surely forming on the sill, the ledge, on the
ground below, they must know that they, too, shall rise again to
live another day, becoming a beautiful cloud or multicoloured
rainbow. Dying and rising again, immortality in the truest sense of
the word . . . not as I, naïve child that I was, thought I understood
it a century ago. Oh, the folly of that cool November evening, as I
gladly bade farewell to what I perceived as hateful mortality. I was
barely nineteen! A foolish, addle-notioned child—I could not
imagine then what eternity meant, what it would mean to be One
of The Blood. What my Duty would demand of me, how much
more painful Our losses, Our loneliness, Our love.
Is it so unusual a thing, to imagine something so totally
different from what it turns out to be? That in our attempt to grasp
some inkling of the future we reach out, determined to catch hold
of what is yet to come, only to have it dart away laughing merrily
at the grand joke of its disguise?
Ah, Fate. What a cruel playmate you can be.
Pattering, laughing, the sound of the rain skipping along the
sill. It reminds me of a children’s song; a sad song about a little
boy with a magic dragon for a playmate, frolicking in the mists of
make-believe. Then the little boy grew up and didn’t want to play
anymore, which made the dragon very sad indeed.
Green scales fell like rain.
Haunting, that little song murmuring softly in my mind now,
watching the sky weeping itself into the night. The dragon weeping
at the loss of his beloved friend. The rain falling here as if the
Karen R. Thorne 15
whole universe were weeping my sorrow, remembering that
bittersweet long-ago.
Wistful, melancholy, this silvery rain-washed darkness tonight.
Echoing my sorrow, crying its tears to mirror my own as I search
for the words that might reach you, my most precious Beloved
One. Soft refrains of bittersweet yearning, striving for something
powerful enough to bridge the distance, the barest whisper of my
deep and abiding love that might touch you with the essence of
me, and at last call you home.
Remember, you said.
Yes, I remember.
Do you?
I must beg pardon, my love—I was suddenly overcome. Dropping
my pen I flew to the window, flung open the curtain with such
force I nearly ripped it from its hooks.
Leave me alone! Bursting forth of its own volition, echoes of the
scream a stoccado reverberating in my head, the room, against the
quivering glass that all but shattered from the sound. Trembling I
stood staring out into the darkness, breath heaving, fists knotted,
affecting a brave façade as the rain continued sheeting down.
Show yourself, you bastard.
As if in answer the downpour grew even harder, falling
quicksilver drops hitting the window with ever-increasing force.
And then an almost laughing, a low and stabbing sound purring
with devilish delight as it raises a taloned fist in triumph—
But . . . nothing is there.
Long minutes have I waited, thinking surely I would see him
move. He has not. And so I return to my desk, casually adjusting
the cloak round my shoulders just as if my heart were not quaking,
as if I were not terrified that the shadows outside my rain-
pummelled window might indeed be those of my Pursuer.
16 Reflections of a Vampire
Could it be mere imagination? Might these shadows rise from
naught else but the tortured fancies of a demented, guilt-ridden
mind?
Or is it in fact the disembodied touch of that vague unearthly
shadow out there watching me now, betraying its presence briefly
as it slips furtively past the rain-streaked window. For even as I
write it a familiar creeping slithers up my spine. . . .
It can mean only one thing.
My long-suffered enemy has found me at last.
TWO
Sallos Manor. How long before I could again speak those hateful words aloud?
How clearly I remember the night We arrived. The fifth of June, 1982. Deathly, the stillness that hung in the air, ominous and silent—as if even Mother Nature herself dared not breathe—the atmosphere charged with electricity as thunderheads roiled against a charcoal horizon. The unsettled spring had made such storms almost commonplace; still, it was no excuse to ignore so blatant a warning, as we said our goodbyes to New Hyde Park, for forty years the place We had called home.
Precisely onehalf hour past sunset the limo had arrived. Its polished black length glistened beneath the streetlights as the door swung open and a mortal chauffeur got out. All at once a heated rush gave me pause: Images, too fast and fleeting for me to see skittered across my mind’s eye. But Adrian’s wink was so confident, his touch so warm and reassuring. “Ready my love?” I heard him say, his face beaming that luminous smile.
Reluctantly I nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”Together We climbed into the maw of our host’s immaculate
conveyance, this silent black demon that would take Us away from all we had ever known.
Yet despite Adrian’s confidence I could not shake my misgivings. Eightysix Immortal years had I trusted him implicitly,
18 Reflections of a Vampire
believing in everything he said, everything he did. But I was not at all sure about this decision, this place, these “cousin” vampires We were about to meet. Least of all Sallos, the Manor’s muchreputed lord and master. Just who was this Sallos, anyway?
“He is . . . a ‘cousin’ of Ours,” had been Adrian’s cryptic reply.“Cousin?”Adrian pursed his lips. “Of a sort, yes.”“What sort?”I could feel him searching mentally. “Related to Us . . . in a
way. It is difficult to describe. Rather like two branches of a very old family that have gone off in entirely different directions.”
“But what’s he like?”At this Adrian had smiled. “Charming, refined, a gentleman.”
Then his expression turned serious. “But you must watch him, Amelia. He is clever, quick, and not above outright trickery in order to get what he wants. Remember that.”
I frowned. “Then why bother? We have no obligation to accept so untoward an invitation. After all, We could just as easily—”
“Amelia,” and here both face and tone became stern, “the time has come for to you meet other vampires. To learn what they are like, to conduct yourself in their company.”
“But Adrian—”“Amelia. . . .”I hated it when his voice trailed off like that. I knew what it
meant. Discussion over, decision final.Just then the car came to a stop. The formidable entrance to
the Manor loomed above us, monstrous gates slowly opening, jaws of a wroughtiron behemoth bearing an ornate and monolithic marble obelisk carved with an equally ostentatious S. Absently I rubbed the backs of my arms, trying to rid myself of the sandpapery creeping all at once irritating my skin. By now the storm had arrived in full force—brilliant lightning and fierce winds, though not a drop of rain, and as the car snaked slowly through the twists and turns of the long drive, even the high stone
Karen R. Thorne 19
wall surrounding the extensive grounds offered little protection. Massive oaks bent almost double, and several small maples snapped in two as we passed, their severed limbs sucked away into the darkness.
“My love?” Adrian’s murmured voice startled me. “Might you release your deathgrip now?”
“Oh!” Belatedly I realised I had been squeezing his hand, hard, for quite some time. “Forgive me. This weather unsettles me so.”
Adrian’s smile broadened. “Relax, my love!” The dim light flickered in the black diamonds of his eyes. “You are stronger than you think.”
Before I could reply the car once more lurched to a halt; my innards leapt into my throat. As the driver got out a great howling rose up, the car suddenly a fierce windtunnel until he managed to slam the door. I leaned over to peer through the glass. Solid stone walls, narrow windows, two stately granite lions guarding the immense Grecian columns supporting a ponderous arched roof. As if we had stepped right into some dark work of Byron or Shelley.
Adrian pulled me close. “Remember, Amelia.”I could feel his intensity. Never look at them directly, Amelia.
Never! All at once I felt an odd strength in those oftrepeated words. “One look into your eyes would reveal all, my love,” Adrian had said. “ ‘Cousins’ they may be, but their kind and Ours must never, ever mix! To do so could very likely destroy the world.”
Echoing yet again, that tiresome oration—until a sudden gust snapped me back to Reality. The driver stood waiting for Us to alight.
Adrian extended his hand. “Come, my love!” Together We battled the gale force winds as We hurried up the broad stone steps.
Dust and debris stung our eyes and choked our throats, playing havoc with our hair; so much for appearing composed. Appalling, having to present Ourselves in so dishevelled a manner—though, who was to say what these “cousins” would be like? As Adrian
20 Reflections of a Vampire
pressed the sonorous doorbell, images of the old folklore crossed my mind: holloweyed creatures dressed in the rotting shrouds of the grave, water dripping sad echoes throughout the musty catacombs as they slept, pale zombies rising with the setting sun, seeking only to satisfy the insatiable lust for blood—
The polished mahogany door swung open, and I gasped. The female vampire who stood there was ravishingly beautiful.“Good evening,” Adrian said, giving a slight bow. “This is
Amelia, and I . . . am Adrian.”I glanced up. The handsome features were a mask, but from
me he could not conceal the surge of dull crimson that flared briefly, then receded.
The female vampire did not seem to notice. Tall and very thin, her long white arms were birdlike and graceful, her sheer red frock whipping revealingly in the wind as she distantly regarded Us. A fine curtain of waistlength hair spilled down about her in thick redgold waves, one pale and delicate hand resting on the gleaming brass doorknob. I watched her gaze slide from Adrian to me and back again, small white fangs peeking over her ruby lips as she affected a slight smile. The strangest wave of dizziness passed over me then; a sort of swimming feeling . . . intense, pervasive . . . then it was gone.
“Ah yes,” the female vampire said at last, her alto voice honeysmooth. The light from the entry lamp glowed softly in her large hazel eyes. “Sallos has been waiting for you.”
Dizziness again. I fumbled for Adrian’s hand, found it, held it tight as I tried to regain my balance.
The female vampire cast a wordless glance at the mortal driver, who bowed and headed upstairs with Our belongings. The graceful woman then pivoted, motioning for Us to follow.
I pulled Adrian close. “Death lives here,” I whispered.Adrian said nothing.
Karen R. Thorne 21
If I had been impressed with the outside of the mansion, it was as nothing compared to what I felt inside. We might well have stepped across the threshold of Buckingham Palace.
In the great maw of the entry hall the female vampire’s bare feet were silent, only her thin frock making the slightest shh, shh, the fluidity with which she moved giving the impression that she floated rather than walked across the marble tiles.
“Wait here please,” she said with a flick of her glance at Adrian. Abruptly she disappeared.
I stared after her. “Well!”Adrian shrugged. “Did I not tell you Sallos has excellent taste?”I didn’t know if he meant the house or the girl.My gaze turned to a narrow glance. “Not at all what I expected,
I must say,” I replied, trying to be as flip as he. “Though it certainly is grand enough.” Our footsteps made hollow echoes in the yawn of the entry hall, the sound ricocheting to the lofty ceiling and back. A false daylight illuminated the black and white stainedglass of the narrow opaque windows (each boasting a large calligraphic S), casting mute reflections on the Art Deco nudes displayed on thin ebony occasional tables situated below. Cascades of black and white chintz framed the few interior doors, all closed. But the hall’s crowning glory was the enormous crystal chandelier, its low light nonetheless creating an almost audible sonic throb at the base of my skull. Its endless multifaceted prisms were disturbingly hypnotic, worsened by the blackandwhite abstract design of the marble floor, an illusion spiralling down, down, down, jagged triangles spinning round and round, down into the depths of some unfathomable black void.
“Look at these,” Adrian said suddenly, the sound jolting me back.
Neatly grouped in symmetrical patterns, an unusual collection of blackandwhite photos, each beautifully framed and fitted with a tiny lamp to illuminate the subject. “Fascinating!” I said softly. “Strange, though, that so many vampires would permit their
22 Reflections of a Vampire
photographs to be taken.” (Adrian, of course, would never have allowed such a thing. No permanent records of Us, written or otherwise.)
With an odd smile he nodded. He indicated one in particular, a pale little girl with a heartshaped face and poignant expression. In her hands she clutched a ragged teddy bear, a forlorn puppy leaning against her leg. I could almost hear her voice, crying it seemed, as if she were calling out for help from her frozen snapshot in time.
“Lovely,” I said aloud, more to break the spell than anything. “But so . . . haunting.”
Such vacant stares, icy desolation—Adrian slipped an arm about my waist. “Almost as much as this
place, my love?” And then that beautiful smile, warming me with his incomparable radiance. I leaned into him, returning the unspoken sentiment.
“Sallos would like for you to wait in the study,” announced a honeyed voice.
I jumped. It was the female vampire who had greeted Us.“If you will follow me,” she said with a dismissive wave. And in
a flounce of red silk she once again disappeared.Silently We followed her down the long narrow corridor.
Discreetly wiping my moist palms in the folds of my frock, I glanced curiously at the numerous photographs lining the walls. Again haunting and disturbing, these were of a singular and striking young man, his short jetblack hair a startling contrast to his extremely white vampire pallor. For some reason I found it difficult to look away, his unusually light green eyes appearing to watch Us as we passed, though I was sure it was merely a trick of the light.
Before a heavy oak door the female vampire paused. “Wait here, please,” she said in her honeysmooth voice as she swung the door open, flashing Us a polite smile. And with that she once again vanished, leaving Adrian and me standing in the empty study.
Karen R. Thorne 23
“Well!” I said when I had regained my composure. “I can’t say I care much for her manners.”
“Why?” Adrian returned with a little shrug. “She was gracious enough.”
“You thought so?” I said. “Simply saying ‘please’ doesn’t make for proper courtesy. Didn’t you notice how she disappeared before We had even had time to say thank you? And she never once mentioned her name.” I was overreacting, I knew, but my uneasiness was growing worse. “Abandoning Us in the entry,” I continued with a flourish, “then shuffling Us in here and whisking away again with hardly a word. Rude. Simply rude!” I gave a little sniff. “And just where exactly is our gracious host, pray tell?”
Just then a deep voice rumbled, “Good evening.”I whirled.Leaning indolently against the doorway to the next room, a tall
slender vampire stood motionless. Hands casually tucked into the pockets of his smart burgundy smoking jacket, a diamondflashed ascot at his throat, immaculate pinstripes, and wingtip shoes—he looked to have just stepped out of an old gangster movie. Even his short jetblack hair had been slicked back with a practised precision.
“Please,” the vampire purred in the deepest voice I’d ever heard, “have a seat.” The vampire gestured with a smooth white hand. “I hope you didn’t have to wait long.”
“Not at all,” Adrian said as We moved to sit down.Never look at them directly, I reminded myself firmly. Remember
to look without looking. But quite against my will I found myself staring, drawn by some invisible pull that would not let me look away. My gaze (disfocus, Amelia!) fixed upon the vampire’s small, piercing green eyes: frightfully cold, devious, malevolent. An air of pure cunning surrounded him, heavy blackness shading what surely would have been a brilliant yellow (in what mortals would call his aura), the most repulsive brown muddying the greens and
24 Reflections of a Vampire
oranges and reds. He seemed possessed of a predatory greed, verging on merciless.
And yet I couldn’t say he was unattractive. On the contrary, most would’ve called him handsome, perhaps even beautiful. The lamplight as he turned it up revealed sharp features seemingly chiselled by the hand of a master sculptor, his lissome body moving swiftly with catlike grace as he deftly seated himself on the chaise across from Us.
“I trust you had a pleasant ride?” the vampire rumbled, extending his long arms as he leaned back. “I instructed Roger to make sure you were comfortable.” The weighty bass sound filled the room, the words rolling off his tongue as a fine actor would speak.
“Very pleasant,” Adrian said. “Despite the storm.”Such an odd tint to Adrian’s voice. Nothing I could describe,
really; more a paleness beneath the surface, something I’d never felt. I cast a discreet questioning glance in his direction; in answer he silently reached for my hand, clasping it firmly as if to say, I do not know.
The vampire’s gaze narrowed. “Yes, these latespring zephyrs do come up without warning, don’t they.” Then suddenly but with the same liquid grace the greeneyed vampire sat bolt upright. “Why, I’m completely forgetting my manners! Your beautiful young lady and I have not been formally introduced.” And before I even saw him move he was standing in front of me. “Sallos Darthèse,” he intoned with a slight bow as he extended his hand. The lamp behind Us shone fully on the marblelike texture of his face as he bent down close.
“Amelia Wellingford,” I replied, belatedly remembering to not look at him directly. This was more difficult than I thought! Struggling to conceal my mixture of feelings I allowed him to kiss my hand. But my heart was racing a little too fast, my breathing a bit too shallow—though for what reason I couldn’t possibly say, unless it was due to the turbulence outside. No, it had to be more
Karen R. Thorne 25
than that; the mere presence of this mysterious vampire disrupted me. And I could feel it affecting Adrian as well.
“Ah, a lovely name for one so lovely,” Sallos said airily, trying in vain to catch my eye.
I smiled but said nothing. To some he may have seemed charming; to me he was perfectly nauseating. A spoiled sweetmeat wrapped in a pretty package.
Sallos paused, then straightened, tucking one arm behind him as he moved away. “Have you seen my collections?” he asked brightly, indicating the glass case behind him.
“No,” Adrian said. “We had only just arrived.”Was Adrian’s voice trembling? So slight it was hardly
noticeable, except that it was usually so steady and calm.Sallos flicked a switch on the side of the case, and I could not
suppress an Oh! Several gilt eggs and various other items lay inside.
“Fabergé,” Sallos offered, his obvious pride tinting the word. “Originals, of course.”
A small collection, to be sure, but each item exquisite. Five eggs, the largest ones about the size of a hen’s egg, all finely decorated with gold, enamel, and precious gems. It was obvious they were quite valuable, possibly even priceless. And a small triangular box, its rounded lid encrusted with leaves of gold set with diamonds and rubies, beside two miniature portraits in diamond frames joined by a crown of still more diamonds.
“What a perfectly lovely collection!” I exclaimed, my enthusiasm genuine. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Out of the corner of my eye I caught the smile creasing Sallos’s smooth features. “I’m so glad it pleases you,” he said, bass tones rumbling. “Of course I have many collections—a hobby of mine. But this is a particular favourite.” Almost imperceptibly I felt him move closer. “Feel free to examine them any time you like,” and though his comment was directed at both of Us, his gaze was solely towards me. “Any time you like,” he repeated, green eyes intense.
26 Reflections of a Vampire
Quickly I averted my glance. The dizziness swam mightily in my head, and now the hairs were beginning to creep up my right arm. Moreover, something was increasingly disturbing Adrian as well: his eyes looked unfocussed, almost blurred, the way mortals look when they’ve had too much to drink. And I was certain it had nothing to do with concealing Who we were.
The distant ringing of a bell distracted me from my thoughts.(Did I jump?)On the far wall a cord trembled as if someone had just pulled
it; almost simultaneously, the female vampire who had greeted us appeared at the door. I blinked. Sallos had again moved without my noticing: he was now standing opposite, at the far doorway where he had entered. He turned slightly to face us. “Caroline will take you to your room. I’m so sorry I can’t stay to chat, but I have another urgent appointment. Please feel free to roam about the house,” and he gave a broad sweeping gesture with one hand, “especially the Upper Room.” As he said it the green eyes glistened.
Sallos appeared beside me then, taking my hand in his, raising it to his lips. “I’m so glad you decided to accept my invitation,” he intoned, drawing the words out. My skin prickled where his lips had been. “In these changing times, we really should all stick together.” I couldn’t help but catch the subtle emphasis. “And, should you need anything,” he continued, “anything at all—all you have to do is ask.” Again he tried to hold my gaze (which I would not allow), the plastic smile momentarily fixed in his face. Then he turned. “Adrian, so good to see you again,” he said with an odd inclination of his head. “We really must sit down and have a long chat. When I get back.” For a moment he seemed about to say something else. Then with an abrupt halfbow, Sallos disappeared.
I blinked. His exit seemed to suck up the air; I again felt unsteadied. Instinctively I reached for the nearest chair, my grip moist as I leaned on the carved mahogany back. Is this what these “different” vampires were like? Do they all have this . . . this
Karen R. Thorne 27
disorienting effect on Us? I frowned. Were these my thoughts, or had I spoken aloud?
I looked over at Adrian. He sat staring at the floor, shaking his head as if to rid himself of the lingering effect. But he disguised the motion by subtly inclining his head towards Caroline, who stood waiting.
Smiling as though she hadn’t noticed anything, Caroline said, “Your room is upstairs. If you will follow me.” And, as was apparently habitual in this house, she disappeared.
†
Straightaway in Our room Adrian and I collapsed on the huge fourposter bed. I was the first to speak.
“Well!” I said. “What do you think of all that?”Adrian quickly placed a finger against my lips. “Not so loud,
dearest.” Then he pulled himself across the bed and sank into the pillows. He shook his head with a sigh. “Odd,” he said, more to himself than to me. “I never expected this.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean?”Adrian leaned closer. “Amelia,” he said, almost whispering,
“what did you feel when we were talking with Sallos?”I tossed my head. “I found him entirely disgusting. A perfect
bounder—a boor, as the Americans say. Sashaying into the room as if he were royalty, all prancy and puffed up with his own pride. And that outfit! Who does he think he is, Edward G. Robinson? And he couldn’t resist showing off his priceless little collection first chance, now could he?”
“That is not what I asked you. I asked you what you felt.”I stared at him, surprised. Never had I known Adrian to be
impatient or irritable.
28 Reflections of a Vampire
Pursing my lips I thought for a moment. “I felt . . . off. His manner was too smooth, too plastic. Yet it was more than that. It was almost like. . . .” I searched for the word.
“Like being drained?”A flush went over me. “Yes. Like being drained.” Suddenly I felt
my eyes widen. “Oh, Adrian, are they all like that? Do you think they have some power we don’t know about? Maybe they are a lot stronger than We are! I know you wanted me to be around other vampires, ones different from Us, but surely this was a mistake!” By now my whole body was beginning to tremble. “Adrian, we have to leave. We have to go back. I told you I’m not ready for this. They’ll see right through me! They’ll know straightaway We’re not like them—”
“Amelia!” he hissed, clutching my arm.But before he could say more, angry shouts came from
somewhere down the corridor. Garbled, unintelligible, a hard thud of something hitting the wall, the sound of a child crying. Then the pounding of footsteps moving away, down the stairs, the slamming of a door below.
Adrian and I glanced at each other. But there was only the rise and fall of the wind.
“Amelia,” he said in an even voice, as if he had never stopped speaking, “we are going to act as if everything is perfectly fine. There is simply no point in arousing their suspicions or Our tempers over so small a thing.” He raised a hand to forestall my sharp retort. “It is nothing, Amelia. Nothing at all. I told you before We came that they would be different. Their power is different, and We have to adjust. That is all.”
“But—”Adrian merely shook his head and pulled me to him. The air
about him sighed finality as he held me. I felt his eyes close.“I am tired,” he murmured. “Rest with me a little, and then we
will go out, hmm?” And his weary small smile warmed the air as
Karen R. Thorne 29
he lay back against the pillows, leaving me to ponder in silence as he slept.
†
Standing at the door of an immense cathedral, a sharp, frigid rain nearly drowning me as it pelted down amidst vivid lightning flashes and explosions of thunder. My bare feet were numb from the cold concrete, my thin cotton gown plastered to my body with rain. Eyes stinging, I blinked furiously, straining to see through the black downpour; pounding on the heavy wooden door of the church, crying fearfully though I didn’t know why.
When the door finally opened, a tall figure dressed in a long black robe stood there, hood pulled down so I couldn’t see its face.
“Save me please!” I pleaded.The tall figure reached out, long thin white arms embracing
me, the door closing behind us as we entered the cathedral.“No more crying,” it said, the voice low and soothing. “You’ve
come to the right place.”Standing at the altar, candles burning all round, acrid smoke
pinching my nostrils as the figure picked me up, carried me in its arms. Trying to resist, so weak I could barely move. The figure bending its head over me, whispering, “This is my house, and you are always welcome.” And the hood fell back and it was Sallos, grinning broadly, fangs bared as he sank his teeth into my throat.
THREE
I awoke with a start, gasping, sitting bolt upright. How long I had slept? It seemed quite late, yet the air seemed to imply the hour was not yet midnight. In the stillness I heard Adrian softly moan, deep in sleep. He, too, seemed to be having fitful dreams; the rhythm of his breathing was irregular, his heartbeat erratic. Flashes of greenishred flames sparked round him like malignant fireflies, his shirt damp with sweat as he tossed about. “Adrian?” I whispered, stroking the damp curls clinging to his forehead.
In a motion so swift I couldn’t see it coming Adrian thrust me up hard against the wall. “Never yours,” he hissed, eyes flashing, his fevered hand tight against my throat. “Never!”
I froze. Was he still dreaming? His powerful grip bit into my flesh, cutting off the circulation, making it impossible to speak or even breathe. Spots swirled before my eyes, unconsciousness rapidly approaching.
All at once Adrian released me. “Oh Amelia,” he whispered, his hand to his mouth. “Forgive me!” Reaching out he pulled me to him, his entire body trembling with cold.
Karen R. Thorne 31
I gulped great draughts of air as the blood began to flow again through my nearlyasphyxiated throat. “It’s all right, Adrian,” I reassured him, slumping against the pillows. “It was only a dream.”
He sat back. “So you had them too.”“The nightmares? Yes.” A shudder passed through me. “What
does it mean, Adrian?”He shook his head. “I do not know. Probably just the newness,
the strangeness of this place. As well as the fact that neither one of us has fed tonight.” As I gasped at the reminder, Adrian smiled. “Hungry?”
“Famished!”A mischievous grin upturned the corners of his mouth. “Then
shall we sample the local cuisine?”
†
The wealthy neighbourhood of Jamaica Estates promised a change from the more “common” nourishment of New Hyde Park. But to my surprise Adrian pulled me along swiftly and purposefully, moving catlike through the quiet streets toward some unknown destination. All round the enticing aroma of achingly warmblooded humans wafted on the gentle breeze, titillating my senses to near frenzied heights of desire, and the oddest feeling passed over me, as if we were being followed, or watched.
At last Adrian stopped outside the darkened windows of a small oldfashioned cottage on the outskirts of Huntington, not far from our old neighbourhood. Silently pushing open the window, he extended a hand for me to climb inside.
The soft murmuring of sleeping mortals nearly sent me into a swoon, the scent of the blood almost visible. Adrian moved silently to the bedside table, the sharp acrid smell of sulphur momentarily punctuating the air as he struck a match, its golden flame rearing up, then settling into a warm glow.
32 Reflections of a Vampire
A gentle male sigh filtered from beneath the covers as the young man shifted. I let out a gasp. The face of an angel, amidst a halo of golden curls. Delicate lashes, soft full lips parted moistly in sleep. . . .
“Amelia,” Adrian whispered, rousing me from my trance. “Come see.” Carefully he pulled the covers back to reveal a beautiful young girl as angelic as the youth beside her. Long blonde tresses and a pink rosebud mouth set in the cream of a cameo face. A perfect pair, two golden seraphim plucked from the heavens and laid here before us in sacrificial slumber.
“Newlyweds,” Adrian breathed softly. “Married three days ago.”
I recoiled. Such innocence! So young. . . .“For you, my love,” Adrian whispered, as one presenting a
precious gift.At this the hunger rose up with renewed urgency. I knelt beside
the youth.Sleep. I could feel the thought as Adrian’s hand hovered over
the unconscious couple. Do not wake. Then, ever the consummate gentleman, he sat down beside the girl and waited for me to drink.
I could feel the warm breath of the youth against my throat as I leaned down. The familiar wave of sadness washed through me, at the same moment a chill constricted my spine. But the passion had taken hold: I lifted the youth’s silky curls to expose the soft curve of his neck, the strong heat of his blood beckoning as it pulsed just below the surface. Inhaling deeply, I embraced that marvellous scent—until the hairs on my right arm began to rise.
Something otherworldly was nearby.I paused, cast my senses wide, but could detect nothing.Swoomp! Startling as always, the intensity of that blinding
light, the redhot gushing of blood into my thirsty mouth. The sensual rapture was nearly eclipsed by the ecstatic rush of images flooding through my head: his lovely boyhood on a farm in Flushing, a scholarship to Yale, two years of romantic courtship
Karen R. Thorne 33
and now, marriage. Crystalline details—not merely passing before me but through me, as they always did, a thousand upon a thousand heartbreaking times as the soul is released, the body left behind. Immense sorrow, even as I drank those great draughts of pure bliss, the nectar of a sunkissed peach, heat flowing, a river of warmth and nourishment. Oh, I could taste the innocence! Caught up in the desire, yes! as if I could drink him up, his very flesh and soul.
And at the fringes of my awareness another chill, stronger than the first, a twist in the rope of my spine.
I knew I had to pull away. Knew that the young man’s heart was slowing, his youthful spark nearly gone, and with it the blood that had given this exquisite creature life. Gazing through the mist of my swoon I reluctantly, oh so reluctantly let him go, watching him slip slowly from my embrace into the waiting hands of Death.
I looked up.Adrian was still patiently waiting, revelling in vicarious
pleasure. Now he slipped his arms beneath the sleeping girl, lifting her gently from the bed. Not a sound came from her soft open lips as he buried his face in her neck. I could feel her heart fighting, beating harder, her head thrown back helplessly as the cascade of her shimmering golden hair fell all round.
And barely a moment later, the inevitable.My eyes closed. Yet I could not shut out the sound of Adrian
gently releasing the girl’s body to the floor.He laid a warm hand on my shoulder. “The guilt again, my
love?” he said softly.I nodded, wiping impatiently at the shameful tears.He lifted me, wrapped his strong arms about my waist. “We
free the souls of those We take, my love. Remember?”Again I nodded. “It’s just so hard,” I whispered, gazing down at
the nowlifeless young man sprawled upon the bed, his innocent companion lying on the floor. “Why must it be so hard? When does it ever get easier?”
34 Reflections of a Vampire
At this Adrian smiled. “That, my love, is up to you.”
†
After we left the couple’s home, my insides continued to churn with the bile of regret. Oh, how I hated it! I hated it all. If only the wretched bloodlust weren’t so insistent. If only I could ignore it, could resist that terrible siren’s call, even to stop myself before the life was extinguished—
There it was again. This time I was sure I saw something move, off to our left.
“What is it?” Adrian asked, sensing my concern.I shook my head. “I don’t know. I was sure I saw something,
but now It’s gone.”Adrian smiled. “A bit jumpy are we, my love?”I glanced over my shoulder. “I suppose so,” I said, managing a
weak smile. “Probably just my imagination.”Pulling me close, he kissed my forehead. “Relax, dearest heart.”
Gentle voice, gentle fingers stroking my hair. “You upset yourself for nothing.”
As always, his touch reassured me. I sighed. “You’re right, beloved, of course. It’s just—”
He took my chin in his fingertips. “Do not worry, my precious One. You are stronger than you think.”
Gazing at me deeply, intensity in those unfathomable eyes. I looked away. “I want to believe you, Adrian. I keep telling myself that It’s only the first night, that things will get better. But it doesn’t do any good! My mind keeps turning things over, muddling over this and that, spiralling down into that damned pit of worry that always—”
“You will be fine,” he said with a confident smile as we resumed our walk.
Karen R. Thorne 35
But we had gone only a few blocks when the oddest chill quivered up my back. I looked about. The houses were still quiet, their inhabitants sleeping peacefully, their water sprinklers on the lawns snicking the air in glittering patterns, the whole smelling of damp earth and bright green and sunlight. I took a long draught of the luscious scent. How long since I had enjoyed that lovely fragrance firsthand, at the very moment it was happening, instead of merely its ghostly shadow?
As if in answer, something dark and shadowy slipped past. This time I knew I hadn’t imagined it; it very nearly touched me as it brushed by. Just then a dog barked from the fenced backyard of the house we were passing, a large German Shepherd, more family pet than guard dog. I smiled a silent greeting, and it wagged its tail in reply.
Suddenly Adrian stopped. “Amelia, I need you to do something for me,” he said. He turned, his manner dimmed, pensive.
I nodded, waiting for him to go on.“I need you to promise me that you will be patient, that you
will not ask questions. I know that you are fearful, that you think you cannot do this. But you must have faith! Believe in yourself and all will be well. I admit, the strangeness of Our arrival has caught me off guard. I need time to think. But when the time comes I will tell you everything. I promise.”
Somehow I knew he would say it, that I wouldn’t get any answers to my questions—spoken or otherwise.
“Do I have your promise?”Adrian was smiling that winsome smile, and immediately I felt
my objections melting away. How was it that he could dissolve my fortitude like spun sugar in water?
With a long sigh I nodded. “All right, Adrian. I promise.”
36 Reflections of a Vampire
†
Less than an hour remained before the dawn by the time We again reached the Manor. We strolled up the long private drive, arms about each other’s waists and lost in thought.
All at once Our reverie was interrupted by the loud roar of a motorcycle zooming past. A screech of tires pierced the night as the rider skidded to a stop, the growling machine belching a last defiant snarl before its engine fell silent. In its wake, a nauseating smell of oil and gasoline so strong We had to cover Our mouths and noses. Casting wondering looks at each other, We continued the rest of the way to the Manor.
Outside the front entrance sat the huge black motorcycle, glittering in the lamplight. A shining nameplate on its side said Harley Davidson—a monster of a machine gleaming with chrome, from the deep Ushaped handlebars to the oversized tailpipe—which, despite its size, had done little to muffle the sound. Or the exhaust.
Even inside the Manor we could not escape the fumes. Apparently the rider had come up the stairs to the second storey, as the smell didn’t begin to dissipate until We had reached Our room halfway down the long hall. It seemed even to penetrate Our clothes; We were forced to change before We were overcome by the stench.
But whoever the rider was had vanished.
†
Once We had put on fresh garments, Adrian suggested We seek out the socalled Upper Room. “I am rather curious to see what Sallos meant,” he said, black eyes twinkling.
Karen R. Thorne 37
At the far side of the second storey balcony was a smaller staircase, leading to what We assumed was a third level. We were surprised to find at the top a single circular room, its immense space filled with various kinds of electronic paraphernalia, most of which I’d never seen.
I gave Adrian a light jab. “And you protested when I wanted to get a radio.”
He shot me a mock frown. “I dislike any replacement for the values and traditions so honoured by time.”
“You never seemed to mind listening to your classical recordings on the gramophone,” I said as I ventured into the room.
“Yes, but classical music is art, and—” Adrian stopped as he caught my amused smile. “All right, all right,” he said, feigning a grimace. “But I still maintain that technology will outpace mankind someday. Wait and see.”
I grinned but said nothing. Of course, I with my Victorian sensibilities had never been overly fond of such twentiethcentury gadgetry (despite it was then the very modern year of 1982 with no signs of turning back the clock). Nevertheless, I couldn’t suppress my curiosity and moved closer to take a look.
The far side of the room was occupied by the most enormous television I’d ever seen, plus several videocassette machines, a stereophonic turntable, and a doublecassette tape player with headphones. “Look, Adrian,” I said with a grin, picking them up, “with these you could listen to Monteverdi right inside your head!”
He did not appear to find my comment amusing.Next to the television set was what I assumed was a compact
disc machine: the latest in “entertainment technology.” It was even rumoured that the little prismatic discs would replace the vinyl records that had been popular for so long.
I hadn’t even gotten around to “eighttracks.” Where had the time gone?
“Welcome to the twentieth century,” I said wryly.
38 Reflections of a Vampire
“The twentieth century began eightytwo years ago, my love,” came the droll reply.
“Well then,” I said, grinning at him over my shoulder, “We had better get busy before it becomes the twentyfirst!”
But before he could reply I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise. The noxious odour of gasoline hit me then, at the same time a husky voice demanded:
“Hey, who the hell are you!”A lanky female vampire, bony white hands on her skinny black
clad hips as she stood in the doorway glaring. At the sight of her I stumbled and nearly fell. The aggressive black aura of malice was so strong, angry red flashing like bloodied daggers, that I could barely breathe as she appraised us with narrowed eyes.
“I ain’t never seen you two before,” she said with a flip of her waistlength platinum hair. Heavy boots dug into the floor, the subtle undercurrent in both words and manner very nearly a threat. “Just how the fuck did you get in here, anyway?”
Neither Adrian nor I moved. Unlike Caroline and Sallos, whose elegant appearances nearly belied what they were, this vampire girl was a chilling sight indeed. My vision was slightly spinning, the room beginning to tilt—though whether from the fumes or the deliberate broadcast of her acid negativity I couldn’t tell.
It was Adrian who finally spoke. “Please forgive us,” he said. “We did not mean to intrude. I am Adrian,” cautiously he folded his arms as he turned to face her, “and this is Amelia. We are guests of Sallos.”
The vampire girl crossed her bony arms over the hollow of her chest. As she moved closer I noticed she had the most unusual eyes, the likes of which I had never seen: slightly slanted rather like a cat, the colour a clear amber, the golden yellow of the summer sun. Glittering like two bright globes against her stark white skin, and next to the whitegold of her hair, it gave her the ironic appearance of some earthbound angel.
Karen R. Thorne 39
She stopped in front of us, standing just a little too close. “I’m Paen,” she said, maintaining her haughty stare. “So You’ve come to join our little group, huh?” She gave a sniff. “Fucking shit!”
I felt the snicker behind the words, though I couldn’t begin to discern its meaning.
Paen narrowed her golden eyes then, flicking her glance from Adrian to me as she absently zipped one of her many silver amulets up and down its chain. “Well,” the girl suddenly said with a shrug, “all’s I can say is you’d better fuckin’ like hard rock,” and she nimbly leapt over the sofa. “ ‘Cuz I play it damn fuckin’ loud! Only way to play it, only kind I listen to.” She knelt in front of the stereo, tossing her long fine hair over her shoulder. Rummaging through the cassette tapes she pulled out several, glanced at them, then jammed one in the player and punched a button as she carelessly tossed the case aside. Instantly the room exploded with sound, a rough male voice screaming at the top of his lungs, apparently at war with the “band” that sounded more like a train wreck than anything else.
Paen vigorously nodded and pounded her fist on her knee as Adrian and I covered our ears. “You like Judas Priest?” she yelled at us over the din. “Got some Slayer too—killer album!”
I could feel Adrian inwardly shrinking.Attempting to be polite I shouted, “Well, We don’t really—”But Paen was oblivious, lost in the thunderous sound. She
seemed possessed by the frenzy of the “music” booming from the huge speakers, head hammering to the metallic beat as she rocked back and forth, hands playing an invisible guitar, long hair flailing wildly. Adrian and I turned to go.
“Hey,” Paen shouted suddenly, “guess I’ll see ya’ at table tomorrow night, huh. And shut the goddamn door on your way out!” And immediately she was again caught up in the rhythm and the screaming and the noise.
40 Reflections of a Vampire
~End of excerpt~
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