The Journal of Vincent Du Maurier Trilogy (Books 1, 2, 3) (49 page)

“What have you done,” he said, scowling at me anew.
“You must go. Now.” He didn’t hold back his anger with the last command and
pushed me toward the door. “Go.”

I left my beloved alone to mourn the deed I’d done.
My rage fueled me, as I believed he regretted the girl for whom he’d grown so
fond—the taste with which he’d replaced mine. I didn’t know I’d broken
the greatest commandment of Empress Cixi’s ship: Vampires shall not kill
donors.

I rushed through the passageway, blindly feeling my
way through the maze of corridors, listening for sounds I recognized. I
couldn’t hear anything, and I could barely concentrate on the simple task of
getting back to my own compartment.

I traveled down steps and ladders, lower into the
bowels of the ship, but I didn’t actually know where I was going. I couldn’t
know that my first human kill would cause a grief that was so overwhelming it’d
fuel my rage and destroy my ability to reason for a time. Lost in the chaos, it
felt like the ship’s passageways were shrinking, like the metal bulkheads were
closing in no matter which way I headed.

Perhaps I was overcome with sadness at my master’s
anger. Perhaps his look of disappointment ruined me forever, and I’d never
recover. Perhaps I’d lost him for good. He’d never forgive me for taking his
donor a second time. First me, and now Gia. He’d never forgive me. The wretched
corners of my eyes burned with the pain of hardened tears. My head spun, as I
ran faster and farther away from the scene of my crime. I didn’t stop until I’d
passed the engine room, and welcomed my first coherent sound—the frequency
of the dull drone of bees. The solitaire player barely looked up at me, as I
flew past him and into the small lane of hidden compartments where I picked up
Peter’s signal, and clung to it.

I waited outside his compartment since he wasn’t
alone. When I heard Youlan speak, I stepped away. I tucked into a small recess,
letting their voices come to me.

“She chose,” she said. “She asked for you.”

“Why?” He asked.

“She thinks you’re faithful,” she said. “Besides,
you’re weak.”

“Ah, I see,” he said. “You must be off. I have a
visitor.”

With that, Youlan left Peter and I tried to pick up
her signal as she passed by, but she was too swift, and once again I was met
with silence.

Peter used his gift to pierce my mind with his
dovelike coo, commandeering my brain and drawing me out. “There you are,” he
said when I stepped out of the alcove. “Come.” He ushered me into his
compartment and closed the door.

I happened to notice the bible open on his small
ledge with the rosary lying between its pages. I glanced at it but couldn’t
mark the verse since the script wasn’t Italian.

“What did you hear?” He asked.

I think it was difficult for him to know what I’d
heard since it wasn’t clear to me. He read the bits of conversation in my mind,
but my kill was the more dominant group of thoughts. “Oh my,” he said. “I see.
Sit.”

I obeyed and sat stony face on his stool. He touched
his hand to my cheek and guided my eyes to meet his. He looked at me more
seriously than ever and said, “I knew this day would come. It was inevitable.
We kill because we have to, Evelina, not because we are evil creatures. Your
act was one of necessity, just as a tiger kills in the wild, so too is it your
nature to kill. But God forgives you for it. He knows we’re susceptible to
certain weaknesses.”

I stared at him blankly, unable to comprehend a word
he said.

“You will gain greater control over your anger, but
for now it has served you well.”

“I don’t know what I’ve done,” I said.

He smiled his lovely smile. “Yes, you do.”

I looked away and thought of Vincent and the girl in
the embrace that was once mine.

“Such a shame,” Peter said. “A waste of perfectly
good blood.”

I scowled at him, letting my fangs drop.

“Don’t turn on me, Evelina,” he said. “I may be your
best friend at the moment—ah, let me see.” He reached for my bloody
hands. I hadn’t noticed the dried blood until then, caked and crusting on my
smooth skin like chipped and rusted paint. “They’ve arrived,” he said, studying
my hands. He examined the tips of my fingers, looking at the slits beneath the
nails, the openings from where my talons had shot out. “And they couldn’t have
come at a better time.”

I knew I’d have talons eventually, but I didn’t
think their arrival was such a big deal.

“Oh, Evelina,” he said. “Without these you wouldn’t
stand a chance in the ring. Thank God, you’ve unleashed them. Come, show me
them.”

I held my hands out and looked at my nail beds but
nothing happened. I tried wiggling my fingertips, and then shaking my hands,
but I couldn’t unlock my talons. I looked up at Peter. “Perhaps you need to
motivate them,” he said. “Picture the scene again. Remember the kill.” I stared
at him blankly. “The girl in Vincent’s cabin. What did she look like?” I still
didn’t know what he meant, not realizing I’d blocked it out completely. “Oh
my,” Peter said. “Well it’s there. I can see it.”

Peter stood me up and faced me. He put his hands on
my temples and closed his eyes. I followed and closed mine, letting my head
fall forward. “Concentrate,” he whispered. He moved one of his hands to my
forehead and pressed his palm against it. I heard his frequency and then the
sparrow, as if it were in the room with me and I opened my eyes with a gasp.
“No,” he said. “Concentrate.”

I closed my eyes again and settled into his touch. I
felt the weight of his stony hand against my skin, pressing into my head almost
as if pushing through it. I didn’t feel pain or anger or even fear, I simply
felt alive in the present moment, as though the connection between Peter and me
was all that mattered. It felt like we were suspended in that state forever,
until I saw it—all of it. The girl’s bloodied throat, her collapse on the
deck, my beloved’s look of horror, his smile, and my new hands with long sharp
talons that dripped with her blood. I smelled the blood now, as I recalled the
entire scene. My heart pounded in my chest, as I relived my first kill,
stimulated all over again. My fingers burned, like a current ran through the
tips.

“Open your eyes and see,” Peter whispered.

I looked down at my hands and saw the extensions of
my already long fingers. My nail beds looked the same but lengthy—more
lengthy than before—and the small talons took the curve of my nails, only
more pointy, and went several inches beyond my original nails.

“They look sharp,” I said.

“Sharp enough,” Peter said with his usual smile.
“This is what we’ve been waiting for. He obviously found a way to coax them
out.”

I asked him who, but I knew.

“Yes,” he said. “You know who.”

He told me to wash the blood in the sink, and I
admired my new weapons again as I bathed them in the cold water. It would’ve
seemed strange to have such a feral body part when I was human to be sure, but
as I gazed at my talons, I felt closer to my beloved than before, my body
making itself like his.

“You’ll have to learn to control them,” Peter said.
“They’re still weak at the moment, and unruly. They may not appear when you
need them, so you have to discover what makes them itch, what brings them out,
until they eventually come out without your needing to think about it.”

“You said I’ll need them to beat Mindiss,” I said.

“You will,” he said. “You’ll need all your gifts.”
He tapped my forehead gently, and I assumed he was referring to my gift of
satellite. “Ah,” he said. “You know how to conquer fear, Evelina. Don’t let it
get a foothold again.”

I didn’t realize I was fearful, but I suppose he
could see things I didn’t.

“We don’t have long,” Peter said. “They’re on their
way.”

“Who—”

“Never mind,” he said. “Listen to me. You must
control her frequency—the Fangool. You must find a way to make it bend to
your will, just as I intercept yours and force you to obey. Can you do that?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “How do I know?”

“You’ve got to feel it,” he said. “You’ve got to get
inside of her, wear her like a second skin, know her mind before she does, see
her moves before she makes them. Don’t let her dominate you, or distract you.
Stay focused. Forget your kill, forget Vincent, forget the Empress. Just
concentrate on your opponent. Remember when I explained how strong the
vampire’s mind is, and that not all of us take advantage of our gift?” I
listened intently and nodded to assure him I recalled the wisdom. “Mindiss is
ignorant. She only uses magic, never her mind to defeat an opponent. Don’t let
her take your gaze, whatever you do.”

Someone pounded on his door, and then spun the wheel
to open it.

“It’s time,” he said. “Be strong now. You have all
you need to do this—to defeat her.”

Several vampires rushed in, pushing Peter aside. I
didn’t recognize them, though they wore the Empress’s imperial dress and
carried small daggers. I’d seen a few of these guards before, but mostly up on
her level of the ship. They didn’t speak but led me out of the compartment,
through the engine room and into the ring.

I can’t recall much of the fight, though I know
Mindiss dominated. She tossed me around the ring until I retched up stale
blood, though I eventually gained the advantage. When she indulged in her
praise a little too long, taking in the crowd’s cheers, I seized the
opportunity. I was pinned on the deck beneath her boot, and they chanted
transplant
in all manner of languages,
even mine. They called for her to rip out my heart, and so I was prepared to be
hoisted up by the neck. But her ego got the better of her and she hesitated,
which allowed me time to slip out from under her foothold just as I’d done with
Huitzilli’s. Once I’d escaped, I floated higher than I did with the
Hummingbird, using the sparrow’s frequency to buoy me up. I rose until my body
hung in midair, impossible to catch. I was too quick, though she lunged at me.

My action broke up her signal, as if the microphone
were pulled away from the speakers, and I finally caught its essence, the raw
and pure sound of her fingerprint. In that moment, I had her, able to control
her frequency now. What was once a boisterous shriek became a hollow drip, like
the sound of water leaking in a cave. The echo of the drip retreated, until all
I heard was the lone sound of a clean drip. Plop—plop—plop. Because
I’d reduced her sound to its finest element, I was able to do the same with
her, which is why I could evade her with such dexterity. Mindiss couldn’t pull
out my heart because she couldn’t catch me.

I concentrated on the drip, making it bend to my
will. Here and there, I dodged the Fangool from corner to corner, making her
run around the ring like a raging cheetah chasing her own tail. I don’t know
how long I dominated, but I do recall how I lost my advantage. When the drip
faded and the screech of an angered simian came barreling into my mind, I lost
my ability to hover and crashed to the deck. Sluggish once again, I no longer
had the means of dodging my opponent and she wasted no time grabbing me by the
throat and hoisting me up off the deck, my feet dangling well above the metal
planks. She had no hair to pull me up with, but made do with my neck.

I thought of Vincent. He was far from me now and the
only sparrow I heard was the imagined one I created in my head. Bloodstarved,
my body collapsed as it hung in the air, and my arms fell to my sides,
incapable of fighting back. I pictured Vincent’s face, his stern eyes, his soft
lips. I recalled our embrace, even as Mindiss dug her talons into the hardened
skin of my chest and reached in for my heart. I didn’t feel the pain of her
slicing into my flesh, but my heart drummed between my ribs with a force that
shook my insides, daring my opponent to pull it from its cage.

I wasn’t fearful or filled with regret, for rage
alone was my fuel. When I envisioned Vincent’s teeth sunk in Gia’s skin, the
stone of anger in my belly shattered and exploded up through my intestines, up
into my throat and down through my arms. I could taste my ire, like black spume
oozing up through cracks in a road. Once my talons had ripped through my skin,
stronger and sharper than before, Mindiss was done for. Without thought, I
raised my hands up and drove my fingers into the sides of my opponent’s head.
Through her ears, into her skull, all the way to her brain, I thrust my hands
in so deep, my knuckles sunk to her hairline. When her force waned and her
effort on my flesh died, she dropped me to the deck with my fingers still
lodged in her head. I heard one lone frequency—the warble of the sparrow,
turning its loop as it continued to call to me.

“Tingzhi!” My maker shouted from somewhere in
steerage. “Tingzhi!”

A troop of vampires swooped down into the ring and
pulled the defeated Fangool from my hands. Her skull oozed and bubbled, as it
slid off my talons. I admired my hands with the shiny goo of vampire gray
matter stuck to their tips. The brain guts glistened in the dim light of the
metal coliseum. But my victory was short-lived, for one of the guards took my
hands and pulled them behind me, tying me up almost instantly. Another threw
some kind of brace and hood over my head and tied it around my neck, tightening
it so that it was pulled against my throat, its edge piercing my chin and the
back of my skull. The lone sparrow died and the chaos of sound that erupted was
impossible to order. The crowd’s whistles and jeers, their racket of
frequencies and the Empress’s simian squeal, came blaring at me all at once. I
tried to sort through the noise and locate Peter or Huitzilli or Vincent, but the
cacophony was too dense.