Staying Human
Myra fell to her knees, blindly reaching for the candle in the darkness. Her hands found only hard floor. Her heart beat way too fast, and she took small, hurried breaths. The moist, sticky air of the prison cell entered her lungs, choking her.
Tristan’s laughter broke the silence. “I see you are as deft with candles as you are skilled at helping me.”
She could not find the heart to reply; her throat was too tight. He’s laughing. And he sounds no worse than before. Did I really see it?
Her fingers finally found the candle, and she reached into her pocket, looking for her flint. She lit the candle and stood up.
Tristan was sitting with his back to the wall, his arms stretched straight above his head, pulled by heavy titanium chains. Crisscrossing angry red welts decorated his entire torso, from the base of his neck down to his belt. His face remained untouched.
“Tristan—what… who did this?”
“What?” He looked down, examining his body in mild curiosity. “Ah, you mean this? Isn’t it obvious—the ginger likes his whip.”
Myra blinked. Tristan was lying. Tristan was confused. Tristan was mistaken. He had to be. “Thomas?” she whispered. “He did this?” They had tortured vampires before, but it had been necessary. It had been for information. While this… this was something entirely different. “Why?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know,” Tristan said. His voice was calm and matter-of-fact, almost cheerful. “He did it because he wanted to. He did it because he liked it.”
“That’s not possible,” Myra said. “You must have done something. You must have provoked him.”
Tristan laughed. “Not possible? Why? Because the ginger is a human? And all vampires are monsters, while all humans are sweet, innocent lambs?”
Myra stood frozen, unable to comprehend Tristan’s words. “He didn’t enjoy it. He couldn’t have. Humans don’t enjoy things like that. He must have had a reason, and I’ll find out what it is.”
“Go on, let him lie to you,” Tristan said. “And then believe whatever he says. Perhaps that would make you feel better.”
Myra sighed. “Tristan, I’m sorry. I promised Vlad I’d take care of you, and I’ve let this happen.”
“No big deal,” he said, attempting a shrug. His chains rattled. “The boy thought he could cause me pain. He knows nothing about pain. If anything, it provided a welcome distraction from what I usually feel.”
“You don’t have to pretend to be brave,” she said.
Tristan grinned. “Who is pretending? This little ginger-headed friend of yours is no match for me. Now, about the other ginger…”
“Stop saying that word,” Myra grumbled. And then, something struck her. “The other ginger? Was Sissi here?”
“Oh yes, she most definitely was,” Tristan said with a smile. “She helped me shave and brush my hair. And I think she will provide the most intelligent company of you lot.”
Myra’s eyes narrowed. She had been too distracted by his new injuries to notice before, but now that he had mentioned it, his hair did look cleaner and less tangled. Was this wise? What if Zack and the others noticed? “What makes you say that?”
“For one thing, she is head over heels in love with vampires. The girl has refined taste.”
“Or a lack of a brain, more likely,” Myra said. “And that’s not even true. She’s strangely obsessed with the Prince. She thinks she’s in love with a character she made up, but she has no idea what he’s like.”
“And what is so strange about that?” Tristan challenged. “It was common in the Old World. Young women used to worship singers, actors, sportsmen, politicians, writers, when all they knew about their true personality was based on a few interviews and their own imagination and interpretation. It is normal.”
“The Prince is not a celebrity,” Myra snapped. “He is a mass murderer. There is absolutely nothing normal about Sissi’s obsession.”
Tristan moved, trying to change his position, making his chains clang. “Some women of the Old World loved mass murderers, too. Psychologists called it ‘hybristophilia’—the attraction to people who have committed atrocious crimes. Serial killers received tons of love letters while in prison, even some marriage proposals.”
Myra raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like a mental disorder that needs medical attention. Besides, Sissi doesn’t love the Prince; she knows nothing about him.”
“Perhaps ‘love’ is not the exact word,” Tristan mused. “Perhaps she merely wants to be like him.”
“Ah,” Myra said. “So that’s why you seem to relate to her so well.”
Tristan snorted. “What? You think I want to be like the Prince? Please. I am charming, smart, refined, and dashingly handsome. Why on earth would I want to be a rugged barbarian with unfiled nails, when I could be…” He moved his head as much as possible, running his eyes over himself. “When I could be this.”
Myra crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I swear, one day, I’ll find a conversation topic that you can’t twist around to go back to your self-absorption and vanity. I’m sure it must exist.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Tristan said. “And what I meant to say is, Sissi is a dreamer. She has spiritual needs that cannot be satisfied by the crappy world she lives in. She longs for something more, and she makes it up. But she doesn’t simply stay in the safety of her hideout, dreaming and waiting for the fairy godmother to come. She goes out into the world and fights for her dreams. That, I respect.”
Myra stood silent, carefully regarding the beaten-up vampire in front of her. “I’m surprised you picked up on that.”
“I am more sensitive than you think,” Tristan said with a wink, and she smiled despite herself.
“Tristan, back in the cave… what you did for the Prince. It was beautiful.”
He looked away. “It is nothing compared to all he has done for me.”
“But I was confused,” Myra said. “You and Armida… you kissed. And it didn’t look like it was for the first time. And the Prince didn’t seem to mind at all.”
“Why would he mind?”
The question was so absurd she did not know where to begin. “Well, he and she… they’re together. It’s not supposed to work this way.”
Tristan stared at her and burst into laughter. “Oh, Myra, you and your human ideas.”
She blinked. “What do you mean?”
Tristan leaned back against the wall with a lazy smile. “Forgive me. I will explain. I have drunk my lord’s blood, and he has drunk mine. His blood flows through my veins, and mine through his. We are one. Whenever I am with Armida, it is like he is with her.”
I should have known it was a mistake to ask, Myra thought. “I don’t even want to know how that works, exactly.”
“Suit yourself,” the vampire said with a half-shrug. “But you should decide what you want for once. You keep trying to learn more about our world, but at every new piece of information, you avert your blushing eyes.”
Myra froze. Tristan was right, not that she would ever admit it. “So, no one ever gets jealous?”
Tristan snorted. “The idea of jealousy is human nonsense. It comes out of possessiveness; out of a desire to own and control the other person like they are a thing that belongs to you. Vampires engage in no such drivel. We can find joy in knowing those we love are happy, even if that means happy with someone else.”
Was anything he said to be believed? Armida had seemed jealous at the mention of Callisto, and Myra had used that, but was it jealousy, or simple insecurity? “I still don’t understand,” she said. “Why did you and Armida have to kiss before the bloodsucking? We were out of time; it made no sense.”
“I fear this is another answer that will make you squeamish, even though it is something deeply spiritual and beautiful.”
She snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure it is.”
“You see,” Tristan began, his voice solemn, “a vampire’s bite is painful, even for us. It is, plain and simple, two sharp objects piercing your skin and flesh. Proper preparation is needed to make the pleasure overcome the pain.”
“So, it’s some kind of foreplay?”
“Not exactly. It is not so much about preparing the body as it is about a connection of souls. You have to establish a spiritual link with the vampire biting you. Once you do, you want to share your blood with them, you need it. You are thrilled by the idea that you are feeding them. You see, we vampires are very spiritual beings.”
“Indeed,” she said, rolling her eyes. “So the Prince didn’t need to… umm, connect with you before biting?”
Tristan chuckled. “My connection with him is already deep. There was no need.”
Myra stole a glance at the door. If any guards noticed she was spending so much time in the prisoner’s cell, she would revive any suspicion she had managed to suppress. She had little time, and she had to use it for what mattered and not to satisfy her curiosity. “You promised the Prince and Armida you would return,” she said.
“And I will.”
“And how do you plan to do it, exactly, if you’re dead?” she snapped. “You keep antagonizing everyone, and you claim the Prince would never want to negotiate with us. That’s not what we want my friends to believe.”
“Your ginger friend did not require much antagonizing,” Tristan said.
Myra sighed. “I don’t know what happened between you two, but I’m certain you must have given him a good reason. You’ll need your strength if you want to escape, and you’ll never get it unless you feed. And my friends won’t feed you again unless you start behaving.”
He met her gaze, his eyes calm and resolute. “I am not eating any more rats. I will never get the stink out of my blood.”
“Tristan…”
“No, you listen to me. Even if I do eat the dratted, stinking rodents, it will do little good. I am completely drained. I need something more substantial. You don’t think you could find me a pig or a stag, do you?”
“Pigs don’t just walk around here,” she said, annoyed. “It’s rare that we manage to hunt down a bigger animal, and then we actually feed on it.” She had already betrayed her friends in more ways than she could count. She would not steal any real food for Tristan.
“Do your best, then,” he said. “After all, you promised my lord to take care of me,” he added, innocently batting his eyelashes.
“I did,” Myra grumbled as she stood up to leave the room. “And I’m starting to regret it.” She resisted the urge to slam the door behind her and wondered with whom she was most annoyed.
I think I know who’d win the annoyance contest, she thought as she strode towards the Headquarters. The door flew aside and she glared at the scene in front of her.
Zack was sitting at the table, surrounded by candles and poring over a map, and Thomas was lying on the couch, rolling a cigarette. They had managed to save so few goods from the Old World—why did sacks of tobacco have to be one of them?
“Thomas, may I have a word?” she said. “Alone,” she added pointedly.
Zack raised his eyebrows and stood up. “I’ll leave you, then.”
Myra waited until she was certain he was out of earshot and glared at the red-haired man.
“What have you done?” she snapped.
Her friend shrugged. “I know you hate my smoking, but don’t worry, I’ll go outside. I need it to relax my nerves.”
“Relax your nerves?” she cried. “Didn’t your session with the prisoner do enough of that already? Tell me, Thomas, since when do we torture prisoners?”
He snorted. “Since… forever? Since as long as I can remember?”
She stared at him, stunned. “Yes, for getting information. Not for pleasure. There is nothing more we can learn from this one, and I somehow doubt you tried to question him.”
“What is your problem?” Thomas leaned back in the couch and pulled up his foot on the seat. “He’s a monster. He has killed people. He deserves anything we do to him.”
Myra walked in front of him. “This isn’t justice. Vampires may be monsters, but they kill to feed. And they kill fast.”
“And they raise humans in captivity and keep them locked up and helpless, not knowing if the next minute may be their last,” he said. “I can’t believe you’re defending them.”
“I’m not defending them,” Myra said. “I just hate to see you degrade yourself to their level. And why did you leave his face untouched? Did you want him to stay pretty while you beat him up?”
“Wait,” Thomas cried. “First you’re angry that I beat him, and now you’re unhappy I spared his face? Can you decide what you want?”
She could only stare, speechless. “You don’t even have the decency to deny it. You beat him up, and you enjoyed it. We are humans, Thomas. Humans! We are better than they are. We have to be. What is left of us, otherwise? We can’t allow ourselves to sink to their level. If we do, they’ve already won.”
“No? Instead, we should let them kill us at will and treat our kind like cattle?” Thomas spat. “We shouldn’t punish them for their crimes, but should treat them with respect? To me, when this happens, it means they’ve already won.”
“Listen to yourself,” Myra said. “What would Zack say if he learned about this?”
“He would understand,” Thomas said with a yawn. “As should you.”
She took a step closer to him, her intense gaze never leaving his. “Now, you listen to me. We need Prince Vladimir’s cooperation in destroying the WeatherWizard. We can’t do it without his help. And the Prince will not be happy once he learns of this. I want you to think of this next time you raise a hand against the prisoner.”
He raised himself on his elbows on the couch. “And since when should pleasing the Dark Prince be my priority?”
“Will you try to see the bigger picture for once?” she snapped. “This is the plan we all agreed on. Zack approved it. We will inform the Prince of our proposal and wait for his reply. And in the meantime, I suggest you take your sick pleasures elsewhere.”
Myra slammed the door and left the Headquarters behind. She wished to return to her cellar, to wrap herself in her threadbare blanket, read a book, and forget that the rest of the world existed. Perhaps, once she calmed down, she would find the inspiration to continue working on Vlad’s book. Her notebook lay hidden underneath her blanket, filled with new chapters from the point where she had left off at the Palace.
Yes, that was exactly what she needed right now. Story ideas started coming and growing in her mind, and her anger evaporated. A grin spread across her face. She could not wait to wrap her fingers around her pencil and put it all down on paper before she had forgotten something.
But then, she stopped in her tracks. There was no time for self-indulgence. She had promised Vlad to take care of Tristan, and that meant finding the vampire something substantial to eat. An idea had started to form in her mind, but it was way too crazy.
No. What on earth am I thinking? That’s insane. I could never do this. Never.
Myra fisted her left hand so hard the nails broke the skin. Her right hand went to her pocket and found the keys she needed. Crazy or not, it was the only option. Taking a deep breath, she turned around and walked towards the medical cabinet.