Dawn had come to the dusty, forlorn drawing room of the abandoned mansion in Louisiana. Luna lay on a loveseat by the window, a dazzling jewel lit by the deep golden light of a summer dawn.
I stood by the door in the shadows the morning light had yet to reach, Luna’s battered green Bible in one bloodstained hand, turmoil in my heart and mind.
I stared at the blood on my hands.
A few moments ago, I had used my mental powers to make Luna fall into a deep sleep, unable to cope with her fear, distress, and terror—of me. I tore my gaze from my hands and let them rest on her. My heart clenched painfully at the sight of her beautiful heart shaped face bathed in the morning light and I moved out of the shadows to stand before her. Anguish twisted my features and I clutched her Bible tighter. I could not stop thinking of the last words she had uttered to me before I rendered her unconscious.
Take me back home, please.
I let out a shaky breath, my gaze returning to the blood on my hands. I remembered all too well another slave that had uttered similar words to me. I also remembered her bloodless corpse and the flesh that had been torn out of her neck.
I took a step away from Luna and moved back into the shadows.
She could not possibly be the one I had seen in those visions during my years in the wilderness. Yet I could not bring myself to leave her. I had believed until now that only a decade or two had passed since the massacre on the Foster plantation. But Luna’s thoughts had revealed the year to me. It was 1807. I had been alone, and lost, for fifty years. And when I uttered my first words to her shortly after spiriting her away, it was the first time in fifty years that I had spoken to another.
Turmoil wound itself around me like a cold, fat snake. I wanted her to stay at this mansion where I could keep her safe. But she was so frightened of me. How was I supposed to persuade her to remain here when my very presence induced such terror?
The only thing I could think of was Reverend Wentworth. She would have liked and respected him. That only increased my despair because Reverend Avery Wentworth had ceased to exist long before now.
Perhaps he was not completely lost.
If I was to have any hope of gaining Luna’s trust, then I had to try to rediscover him, remember who I used to be. As I stood there I realised there were a few steps I could take to try and bridge the gap between myself, Reverend Avery Wentworth, and the young woman asleep before me. The first had been revealed to me when I looked in her mind when she gazed at my tattered clothing, at the grime and blood I was covered in, and saw her disgust. The other answer was the Bible in my hand.
Hope bloomed and I clutched the Bible tighter. I placed a mental command in Luna’s mind that would prevent her from trying to leave in my absence. Then I left the mansion into the punishing sunlight and broke into a run.
I already knew who to go to, for I had passed him on numerous occasions over the years. I ran knowing that when I returned to the mansion at dusk, things would be different.
***
The person I needed to see was an old Negro who lived on the outskirts of the town, not too far from the mansion. He had been captured in Africa as a boy and brought here, although his native tongue along with the life he lived before America, had long succumbed to the foggy mists of time. He was a gifted tailor and had been fortunate enough to buy his freedom years ago. He lived on his own in a small wooden cabin but continued to work for his old master to buy his children out of slavery, something he knew he wasn’t likely to achieve in his lifetime. He was already awake and beginning what was always a very long day when I reached his home and drew him outside with my mind.
I stood waiting for him beneath a cluster of dogwood trees. Forever reluctant to expose myself fully to humans, I felt naked in the bright glow of the morning sun. He approached me with the slow, determined gait of those of advanced years. His expression was slightly dazed, but the fierce intelligence of a much younger mind shone in his eyes as he gazed at me.
I was about to issue a series of commands, telling him exactly what I wished him to do. But then I paused. That is not what the reverend would have done. So I spoke aloud, hesitantly.
“I need your help.”
His brow furrowed. “What is you?”
“Will you help me?” I said again, desperation creeping into my voice.
To my relief he nodded, simply responding to the word “help.”
“I need clothes. A suit of your old master’s that will not be missed. You will need to alter it to fit me. I need this to be done before the sun goes down.”
He nodded again, his gaze already travelling over me with the critical eye of the tailor as he planned for the task I had given him. Then it occurred to me that I should offer him payment. But I had no money and had never had any need of it before now, something that would have to change now I had Luna to care for.
“I will pay you by getting your old master to reduce the price he has asked for your children.”
A sardonic smile lifted his lips slightly.
“He will honour whatever promise he makes this time.”
He merely nodded, already thinking ahead to his work. He took out a measuring tape and began taking my measurements. When he was done, he nodded a goodbye and wandered back to his home. I had only one other stop to make, to collect the things I would need which I hoped would convince Luna to remain at the mansion. I found them in one of the homes in town and took the opportunity to steal some money, for I would need to have more clothes made and I intended to pay the old Negro the next time I used his services.
I went to ground not far from the mansion, finding it difficult to sleep, my thoughts of Luna, her face a dazzling mystery that would forever dominate my thoughts.
***
I returned to the old Negro at dusk and waited near the dogwood trees. When he saw me, he gestured for me to follow him and then turned and walked away without a backward glance. I followed him behind his home and was surprised to see a tub filled with water behind the house and a small table with towels, scissors, and other items. He had made up a small fire on which stood a bucket of water. He moved behind me and began to take off my jacket, gesturing for me to remove my tattered trousers.
I was so taken aback by the lengths he had gone to, that for a moment I could only look on, overcome by a multitude of emotions I could not name. When he gestured to me again, impatiently, I removed the rest of my clothing.
He bathed me as he had done for his master for many years, bathed me as he would a gentleman. I had already washed the blood and soil off my body, but I submitted to the ritual of the bath. It was a queer meeting of the old and the new as he performed the same task my manservant used to perform in the ease and comfort of my old life in London, here in the twilight air on the outskirts of Louisiana whilst the crickets hummed and night slowly crept into view all around us. He also washed and cut my hair, which was to my waist by then, leaving it grazing my shoulders.
The bath had a queer effect on me, giving me a sense of hope for the future. I would never be the man I once was, but perhaps the old and the new could meet together as they did this night beneath the trees. He helped me dress in black trousers, a navy blue coat over a white shirt, a tan waistcoat, and white cravat (he would not let me dress on my own). Then he produced a large, cracked mirror and held it out for me, moving from one side to another in order for me to see myself from all angles.
I was stunned by the transformation. I had not looked at my reflection in years and I was shocked that I looked like a man, a handsome man, although some sorrow, some unfathomable suffering, could be seen in my eyes. He was looking expectantly at me, still holding the mirror as if to ask if it was enough. I nodded and, satisfied, he placed the mirror to one side. There was only one thing I had forgotten to ask him for. Shoes. But he had thought of that and produced a pair of scuffed black shoes which he placed on my feet. He rose and looked me up and down, nodding in satisfaction.
“Thank you,” I said after a few moments. “I have kept my promise. He will inform you of his decision to reduce the price of your children tomorrow. So they are free.”
He nodded, his features impassive, still not really believing my words. He handed a package of my old clothes to me along with another suit. Sitting on top of the parcel was the gold chain that had been given to me long ago to protect me. I placed it over my neck, tucking it under my clothes. It was another sign that God had not truly forsaken me.
I left him and made my way back to the mansion. I entered, materialising in one of the smaller bedrooms where I deposited the parcel he had given me. Armed with a white box, my heart leaping in anticipation of seeing her again, I was about to materialise in the drawing room where she was waiting, when I hesitated.
Would the reverend have appeared out of thin air in someone’s presence? No. I entered the ether and was standing in the night air in the field of flowers outside the crumbling mansion. I moved toward the front door and opened it, moving down the corridor to the drawing room. I was already much later than I had told her I would be, but I was sure that, thanks to the old Negro, my appearance would not terrify her as much as it had done thus far.
So it was somewhat of a surprise, and concern, when I walked into the drawing room and saw Luna dressed in an old, large green dress, shaking with fear, her beautiful dark eyes wide with a terror that was far more potent than my presence had ever induced in her. Her mind was swollen with it, along with a multitude of images and thoughts that suffused my mind the moment I entered the room. She stared at me and the two words I could make out amidst the deluge were white and man.
“Luna?”
My voice seemed to break through the panic and her relief was so intense that hope surfaced for a few seconds. She sank onto the loveseat so quickly I feared she had lost her footing. I moved over to the table where I deposited the white box, able to make out the images in her mind now that her panic was beginning to subside. They were all memories, dark, frightening memories to which the morose, claustrophobic silence of the mansion had added weight as she spent the long, lonely hours churning over her predicament.
I stared helplessly at her as she began to gather herself.
“What you do that for?” she said.
I was concerned and flustered to see tears well up in her beautiful dark eyes and fall onto her cheeks.
“I...I do not—”
“Why you be walking in here like that…and wearing them clothes?”
I tried to explain myself in order to calm her down. But she continued to throw questions at me, pacing back and forth like a frightened, trapped tiger. The echoes of her shouts, along with her frightened thoughts, clapped against my head like thunder as she rode her temper like a stampeding horse.
I cowered in the presence of her fury and felt as if I was a trembling child once more before the fierce storm of my father’s explosive temper. So I did the only thing I could think of to do before her anger could escalate.
“Sleep, Luna.”
I focused and began to induce the sleep I had put her into on previous occasions.
Her eyes began to droop and she swayed. But then her gaze hardened and she began fighting me mentally, much stronger than before.
To my surprise she lurched forward. I didn’t move as she stumbled across the room to me and struck me across the face. I immediately released the hold I’d had on her mind and her eyes brightened, the sleepiness disappearing.
“Don’t you never do that again!” she snapped.
I could only stare at her in shock. I couldn’t force her to sleep, so where did that leave me?
“You have a very strong mind, Luna,” I said. “No one has ever been able to resist me for even the few moments it took for you to cross over to me.”
It was the start of a conversation. She was mistrustful of me, her mind and emotions convoluted and often volatile. But it was a start; a chance for me to explain part of the reason why I had sought her out. And slowly the anxiety and fear began to fade away until she merely sat on the loveseat in silence, her eyes wide with wonder as she listened. It became apparent from her thoughts that she understood my turmoil. I wouldn’t have ever expected anyone on this Earth to, but she not only understood, she seemed to empathise with me.
“So what you want with me?” she asked after a long silence.
What I have waited half a century for. Your love. I was so close to saying those words, and in the end it was only the repulsion I had witnessed on previous occasions that stopped me from uttering them.
“I just want to be near you, Luna. Nothing more.”
It seemed to calm her.
“Thank you. Sir.”
That was the second surprise of the night, the gratitude and the “sir.” Again it was a meeting of the old and the new world, a chance for me to make my way back to a semblance of the man I once was.
“I have something for you.” I held out her Bible and she was immediately across the room to take it from my hand. “I can teach you,” I said, keen to present my gift whilst the joy and comfort she felt at having the Bible was prominent in her mind. “You said that was your dearest wish, so let me teach you.”
It seemed an age before I saw in her thoughts that she would accept it, that she would stay at the mansion. She sat down at the table then looked up sharply at me, those luminous bewitching eyes keeping me trapped under her gaze.
“Why’s you wanting to teach a slave to read?”
I took my place opposite her.
“You were never a slave to me,” I said vehemently.
That was the first of many mistakes I made with Luna. Being a slave, those experiences, the violence she endured and witnessed, defined who she was. Until the night I was made into a vampire, I had known only comfort, no real hardship pain or trials. Violence was an unknown other in my world so I could never have foreseen how it had shaped Luna. Or how hard it would be for her to resist it.