The Journal of Vincent Du Maurier Trilogy (Books 1, 2, 3) (37 page)

Tossed across the cabin more than once, my body
smashed priceless artifacts and knocked several canvases from their wires on
the bulkheads. I paid no attention to my destruction, as I ran from my
aggressor, trying to avoid a fatal blow. She could only finish me by
decapitation, and so I focused my defense around my neck and head.

“Boo pay,” she said, calling me undeserving
countless times.

I barely escaped her wrath, let alone reasoned with
her, until she landed the blow that ended it all. As I attempted to raise my
body from the deck after her kick to my chest, I faltered and in the second
between my standing and dropping back to my knee, she jabbed her ornamental
claw deep into my neck. I didn’t doubt it was the exact same place in which I’d
plunged it to spill my own blood. The sharp point penetrated my hardened flesh,
as she drove it in with her pinky finger. I felt no pain and there was no
blood, but with her finger in my neck, she gained the advantage I’d tried so
hard to retain. One slice of her real talon and my head would come off. I
kneeled before my maker, looking up at her vicious face, into her savage eyes,
and smiled. “Wu yong,” I said, mimicking her pronunciation as best I could.
“Worthless,” I repeated.

She stared down at me with disgust, her yellowish
green eyes wide like saucers, and smoke escaping from her open mouth as if a
cigarette still dangled from her lips. She was a dragon and I was about to be
slain.

I don’t know where the word came from or how it
landed on my lips but I whispered, “Tsu,” as though reciting some magic spell.
The sound pronounced made it seem as though I’d said
the progenitor
in Mandarin, though it wasn’t said consciously.

My maker’s dark mien shifted to an expression that
could only be one of surprise or, perhaps, wonder. “Tsu,” she said. “How do you
know?”

Though her aspect had changed, she still held me in
the vulnerable position with her claw deep in my neck. I hesitated before
admitting I didn’t know. “Fingwa,” she said, calling my bluff. My maker’s spell
was broken, and she slid her claw out of my neck. “Humph,” she said, wiping the
point on her dress.

She retracted her iron fangs and touched the side of
her mouth with her index finger before producing another cigarette holder and
cigarette for her newly taut lips. With the ease of a chameleon changing
patterns, she switched to a pleasant mood again, as she retreated to the
daybed. She motioned for me to sit in the throne across from her, and though I
obeyed, it took all I had to recover from her attack. I struggled to contain my
ire and seethed inwardly. The fire in the pit of my stomach roared, as I sat
across from my maker, looking into her serene face, old and frail once again.
My fingertips itched and tingled, and I ignored the prick in my neck.

“You need blood,” she said. “When I dismiss you, you
will go to the den.”

I’d lost my desire to speak and simply nodded, as
I’d seen Vincent do.

“Have you discovered your talents?” She took a drag
off her cigarette, smoking it down to the butt. “To compensate for your unworthiness,”
she said, “have you realized your gifts?”

I bit the inside wall of my mouth to keep my rage in
check. Every word she spoke, even those in my native tongue, brought bile to
the back of my throat. I didn’t know hate as a human, but with this repulsion
for my maker I experienced admiration’s polar opposite. I hated the Empress
Cixi.

“Ei wai lina,” she screeched. “I asked you a
question.”

“No,” I said. “Peter tells me it’ll take time to
discover them.”

“Humph,” she said. “Tell him to train you better.” I
smiled, as I thought of Peter already receiving that message. He could read the
Empress’s mind as easily as mine since she was younger than him. “You should
know Mandarin by now,” she said. “Learn it before I see you next.” She made a
gesture with her hand that assured me I was dismissed. I stood up but refused
to bow my head as I’d seen Vincent and Youlan do. When I reached the door, she
called me back. “Ei wai lina,” she said. “Do not forget to whom you belong. We
must make Xing Fu proud.”

I left her starting a new chain of cigarettes, glad
to escape the stifling air of her cabin. I took a deep breath in the
passageway, from where both Peter and Youlan had vanished.

Torn and flayed from her punishment, I contemplated
going to feed on my own. I had yet to visit the den without an escort, but
figured the ship’s mistress had ordered me to do so and if any vampire were to
approach me, that’s what I’d tell him. I listened for Peter, rifling through
the din as it came at me, but I couldn’t pick up his signal. I dropped the
search and headed in the direction from which I’d come. I’ll admit I was
ashamed of the wounds my maker had given me, which is why I didn’t seek out
Vincent, despite my desire.

I made my way through the maze, letting my satellite
guide me. The tips of my fingers burned. The other wounds I’d suffered pricked
at me, but pain wasn’t really what I felt. My flesh was irritated, that’s all.
I stewed in my anger, as I recalled the dragon’s vengeful face. I left her
lavish passageways as quickly as I could and sunk deep into the belly of the
ship where I belonged. The dregs welcomed me with their dank surroundings, and
I tuned in to the sounds of pleasure, thinking they’d lead me to the blood.
Without my knowing it, I was pulled off course when I heard the soft murmur of
a young girl. I recognized her voice as a replica of my own, thinking she
sounded a lot like me when I was human. I didn’t presume to know her but
searched for her as though tied to a tether.

I floated through empty passageways to the other end
of the ship where I found myself leaving the dregs once again, and rising up a
level to a passageway with bulkheads that were lined with portraits of naked
women. The female figures deserved my attention, exquisite works of art that
they were, but my concentration was absorbed in the sound of the girl. She
spoke softly, as though repeating the words of another—
make me yours—feed on me
. Her
Italian was fluid, though I detected an accent.

When I reached a row of first class compartments, I knew
I’d arrived. I could hear her more clearly now through the door. There was no
guard to deny me entrance, but I assumed the cabin was locked, and leaned in to
listen. When her voice died out, all I heard was the lone warble of the
sparrow. Small at first, it rose to greet me with a piercing cry, as my beloved
stood on the other side. The knot in my stomach tightened and my fangs ripped
through my gums, ire throttling my sense of reason.

“Vincent,” I said in the rich tones of my vampiric
voice, nothing like the strident mockery from within.

It seemed impossible for him to deny I stood on the
other side of the door. He would’ve sensed my presence, if not heard my
frequency, but he chose to ignore me, as I waited on the outside of his world,
begging to be admitted once again.

I may have succumbed to my injuries, but I honestly
believe rage strangled me and brought me to my knees, as darkness enveloped me
and I fell into oblivion.

I woke in my compartment with Peter. “You’ve been
fed,” he said. “You’re healing nicely.”

“I don’t remember—”

“It’s not worth recalling,” he said. “Let’s just say
I found you in time.”

I lied about forgetting what had happened. I knew
exactly where I’d landed and why. I just didn’t know how Peter found me and
brought me here.

“Vincent brought you back,” he said. “Ah, I see,
Evelina.” He tsk-tsked in a teasing way. “You’ll stoop to any manner of tricks
to incite the hero in him, won’t you?”

I scowled at Peter, though I hadn’t meant to treat
him with disdain. “Where were you?” I asked.

“Youlan needed me to do something for her,” he said.
“It couldn’t be helped.”

“What do you know about my meeting with the
Empress?”

“I’m afraid I missed most of it—oh, I see,” he
said. “That seems particularly rough.”

“Rough?” I said without intending the emphasis I
seemed bent on expressing. “Worse than rough—a pure hell storm.”

“She can be fiendish,” he said. “She has your best
interest in mind—”

“Not so,” I said. “She wasn’t thinking of me. She’s
thinking of the great Xing Fa or Fu—or whatever—and how I’m going
to humiliate her venomline.” Peter remained quiet, as I continued to whine,
venting about my disinterest in the Empress and her esteemed dynasty. “I don’t
want to be her progeny, and wish I could get off this ship.” With my tirade
finished, I dropped onto the berth and continued to stew silently.

“Are you done?” Peter stood by the door, as if ready
to leave. I wouldn’t look at him, though he could tell whether or not I was
finished. “Your behavior will not help you,” he said. “Try as you might, you
can’t change your relation. She’s given you a great gift, even if you can’t see
it. And perhaps she’s oblivious to your talents, but that won’t be forever. We
need to make you strong, Evelina. You need to earn the esteem of your maker and
her peers.”

I listened to what he said, but I couldn’t stop
thinking about Vincent and how he’d moved on with another favorite
human—a girl, no less. My anger jelled the blood in my system.

“You already look better,” he said, pointing to my
neck. “Your scrapes are healed.”

I crossed my arms in front of my chest and turned
away.

“Don’t pout,” he said. “Things are not what they
seem. Vincent is on his way.”

“How do you know?” I tried to keep my voice from
trembling, but obviously transparency was impossible with Peter.

“He wants to see how you’re healing.”

“He knows I was wounded?”

Peter nodded and started to say something, but then
restrained himself. “As I said, we must up the game with your instruction,” he
said. “I’m assuming she wasn’t happy you haven’t learned Mandarin yet?” I
didn’t say it, but he saw me recall her insult about his training. “Ah, I see,”
he said. “Well, I’ll have to fix that. What do you say? There’s no time like
the present, right?”

I half listened to Peter, half tuned in to the wave
of frequencies bouncing off the ship’s bulkheads. “Evelina,” he said. “You must
concentrate.” He deepened his voice, as he’d done in steerage when he pulled me
away from the ring. “Concentrate.”

I was obliged to obey him since his whole being
commanded my attention, and once again he thrust his signal on me, hacking into
my gift. “I don’t like to be so forceful with you,” he said. “But you leave me
no choice. You will gain the discipline required of you. Once again,
concentrate.”

Standing over me now, as I moved to the edge of the
berth, he pronounced a phrase in Mandarin. He didn’t need to read my mind to
know I heard indecipherable sounds, not words. He repeated the phrase, which
sounded like “Ni how, wo da min za shi Ei wa lina. Wo hen gosing tien dow nee.”
Again and again, he uttered the sounds with the same enunciation—slow and
steady. “Ni how, wo da min za shi Ei wa lina. Wo hen gosing tien dow nee.” I
concentrated on his intonation, as he commanded, noting the way he pronounced
each group of sounds, the music they made as they rolled off his tongue, the
wisp of the lilts and the punch of the hard sounds. “Ni how, wo da min za shi
Ei wa lina. Wo hen gosing tien dow nee.” Soon, he ordered me to repeat after
him, and I obeyed.

“Ni how, wo da min za shi Ei wa lina,” I said. “Wo
hen gosing tien dow nee.”

With no sense of my lesson’s duration, I mimicked my
vampire mentor until I experienced the revelation that comes to us all, that
moment when we realize the capacity of our venomized brain. Whether urban
legend or not, I recall a neighborhood boy teasing me, saying that humans use
ten percent of their brains but I only used four. His words were hurtful, if
wholly inaccurate for a number of reasons, but I wonder what truth there is to
the human brain’s capacity now that I’ve become a vampire. We wield our
cognition with greater precision to be sure. Like a superhero discovering a new
power, I was in awe of my newly acquired tongue.

“Hello, my name is Evelina,” I said. “I am pleased
to meet you.”

Peter seemed unfazed, knowing it’d come that easy if
I’d only let it. “It never ceases to amaze me how few vampires actually embrace
our cognitive potential,” he said. “So many squander a perfectly good use of
genius.”

When Vincent came to see me, Peter showed off my
skill, speaking to both of us in Mandarin.

“Please,” Vincent said. “My ear is not attuned to
the language yet. Italian still weighs heavily on my mind.” He looked at me
when he spoke, but I couldn’t see the intended meaning.

Peter and Vincent conversed as they’d done when I
first met him in the engine room. I listened to my mentor describe my recovery
in detail, as if he’d witnessed it himself. He recounted the rips in my cheeks,
the scratches along my arms and neck, and the welt on my stomach. Empress Cixi
had attempted to gut me at one point, sending her talons across my solar
plexus. I winced at the memory of the attack, though rage inspired the gesture,
not fear.

Vincent examined me from afar, scowling as he
attempted to assess the damage himself. “Show me your hands,” he said.