Arc 2: In Memoriam (Part 5)

As a newborn, I always looked around at all the more practised vampires around me and assumed that they were all so much more controlled than I was because they didn’t feel the thirst as much. It wasn’t until months later that I realised how wrong I’d been. The thirst never goes away. We all just get better at dealing with it.

It might be callous to use the word mistake, but that’s what we usually call it when vampires feed so much that they start killing people. Not all immortals are as kind as we are—most of them just call humans cattle. It’s not even necessarily against vampire law to kill mortals, not unless the human authorities begin to notice. Most of the time the only consequence that might result is hunters starting to put a bounty on your head. (We don’t bother hunters unless they start culling vampires who don’t kill, and hunters in turn tend not to bother vampires unless they do kill. It’s not a perfect system, but it works.)

Canus has always been especially fastidious about not killing humans, which results in an overly hands-on approach to dealing with newborns and fledglings. I don’t actually remember any of us being allowed to hunt on our own until we’ve had at least two months of practice under his supervision.

When I tell him my selection (a petite woman who’d just come in with a group of girlfriends), Canus merely nods. Most of his attention is on Scintilla, who’s staring at a blond man with a slightly smarmy look about him.

‘If it gets too much,’ Canus murmurs when Scintilla stands up, ‘just stop breathing and return to me.’ The words have the weight of a command.

Scintilla nods imperceptibly, then times her visit to the toilets to coincide with the blond man. She invites him back to sit with us, and I move to sit on Canus’s side of the booth so she can sit next to her victim.

Scintilla is still new and clumsy, so she almost takes too much, too fast, but Canus is quick to say, ‘Slow down,’ and, ‘That’s enough now,’ and, ‘Sleep.’

The last command is directed to Scintilla’s victim, who she’s at least succeeded in entrancing. He slumps into Scintilla’s shoulder when he falls asleep, and Scintilla shrinks back before pushing him to slump against the wall instead.

‘Are you doing alright, Favilla?’ Canus asks.

I realise that I’ve gone still in the presence of blood, and also that I’d stopped holding my breath at some point.

‘Sorry,’ I say, ‘I accidentally smelt a bit of that.’

Canus puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘You’re doing very well, then, if you’ve managed to resist it.’

If I had enough blood in my body to do so, I might have blushed. Instead, I just look down. Canus wasn’t so open with praise the first time around, I don’t think, but I also didn’t do many praiseworthy things as a newborn. The encouragement makes him seem like he actually cares.

(He does actually care, of course. I know that now. I don’t know how or why or when it started, but I do believe that he cared for me. Only, he’d always been so cold before, so distant and stern. Or was he? Was he always this kind in the beginning? And I just never noticed until he began to withdraw? Or have I done something that warrants this change in treatment this time?)

‘Stay still, then,’ Canus commands, and then he leaves our booth to track down the woman I’d pointed out to him earlier.

I don’t always feed from women; it’s just that the limitations of my bloodline curse tends to favour women. I’ve often wondered if it means that there’s a hidden aspect to my curse that I haven’t quite figured out, or if I’m just subconsciously as much of a misandrist as Scintilla is.

It matters little tonight, however, as Canus invites the human to sit with us. She slots in next to me, and Canus switches seats with Scintilla because our booth is only supposed to seat four people and Canus doesn’t really fit next to both myself and the human girl, who introduces herself as Julia.

Julia isn’t entranced yet, and Canus speaks at a volume beyond her hearing, instructing me to entrance her. Entrancement doesn’t draw on vampires’ vital forces, so most of them use it rather liberally. I’m slightly out of practice, however, since it usually makes a human’s blood taste worse to me. Still, I succeed on my first try, which causes Canus to praise me again.

‘Slowly, now, and make sure Scintilla is blocking you both from sight,’ Canus orders. ‘Bite down lightly on her wrist; there’s an artery there—yes, exactly. Don’t suck, just let her bleed on her own.’

I take four swallows before Canus commands me to stop and heal Julia’s wrist. It’s not nearly enough for me, and, after sending our initial victims away, Canus lets Scintilla bring in two more humans on her own (from whom she drinks far more sedately) and also brings in a string of humans for me until I’ve had my fill. On the very last one, a young man who introduces himself as Tom, Canus lets me set my own pace, praising me for my control when I stop without needing his command.

‘It took me days to be able to do that,’ Scintilla whispers to me on our walk back to the car. Her tone is admiring, but a little sad as well. I think she might be feeling a bit self-conscious.

‘He didn’t taste as appealing as the ones before,’ I lie with a shrug. None of them were actually all that appealing, entranced as they were, but they were enough for sustenance.

‘Do you have an idea what your limitations are yet?’

I shrug even as I grimace internally. I do know, of course, but it’s far too soon for me to have figured it out already. ‘They were all pretty young, weren’t they? Maybe it’s something to do with experience.’

Scintilla brightens. ‘Maybe you can only drink from students. Weren’t you in uni before—’

‘Scintilla,’ Canus interrupts, having gotten to the car. ‘Did you want to try driving this time?’

Scintilla hesitates, but agrees. Canus takes the passenger’s seat, leaving me to sit alone in the back. Scintilla is still new to stick shift cars, which Canus cites as the reason for his offer to have her drive, but I know better.

Canus never cared about either of us learning how to drive the first time around. No, he made the offer because he wanted Scintilla to stop talking to me, because Scintilla let slip something very strange.

Weren’t you in uni before, Scintilla was saying when Canus interrupted her. But before what? Before I became a vampire? It’s the only answer that makes sense.

Only, why would Canus want to hide that from me?

Do you remember your human life? Canus had asked before leaving me to clean up. I hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but it stands out now. He never asked me this the first time around.

You’ll be Favilla from now on, he’d said.

Favilla? I’d asked, testing the syllables on my tongue. I knew what it meant, but only distantly. I think I must have known a little bit of Latin as a human, though most of the knowledge had slipped my mind over the course of my transformation.

It means ember, he’d said.

Who are you? I’d asked.

Your Sire, he’d said, and then he’d led me down the same trellis walkway he led me down earlier tonight and used sorcery to clean the mud off of me before showing me to my rooms. There hadn’t been much else said between us until the next night, when he explained the basics of being a vampire to me and took me hunting.

All that changed this time around was me revealing that I remembered a bit more. I thought he seemed pleased about it at first, but now it seems more like he doesn’t want me remembering my past.

But why?

I have only the vaguest recollections of my mother being in hospital. Did Canus have something to do with it? Was that why he didn’t want Scintilla reminding me of what I’d been like before becoming a vampire?

Whatever the reason is, I’m determined to find out.