Chapter 7: Chapter 7: Lost Love

The four housemates sat in the living room Clara having placed the stack of money on the coffee table. Mary counted out a good amount before pocketing it. She was off to work anyway, may as well return with something to keep their wander lusting fledgling occupied. Hana and Eddie seemed to be drawing lots on who should tell her. Every so often, the blonde would look over her shoulder to the policewoman, still sat in her car. Eddie swiftly left to get her a drink, knowing what that look meant all too well.

“Well, the cliff notes are that your name isn’t Clara. It’s Lucy Devereux. You’re from old money, in Britain. Daughter of Sir Cassius Devereux and Augusta Devereux. But they didn’t think you were missing. You’ve been gone for about two weeks, set to return to Britain by Christmas.” Hana expounded casually, showing Clara pictures of her supposed parents. A genial looking man with a salt-pepper beard and a refined-looking woman who stood before a canvas. Ah, so exceptionally high society then. Steller. That chucked communist out of the window. “The person who contacted the police was your, uhm, well, your girlfriend.” She let the final statement hang awkwardly in the air as the vampire allowed the reality of that to wash over her. Romantic entanglements when it came to vampires were incredibly complex. Vampirism couldn’t simply pass from lover to lover. It required permission from Edward. In classic chauvinistic fashion, only the vampire needed that clearance. Poor Jeff didn’t even know what was coming on his wedding night.

“Even if I don’t know her anymore, she’s the last toehold I have on my humanity.” Clara eventually spoke, eyes fixated on the ground before her. “I need to know her again. Connect with Lucy. Even if it’s just to bury her.” Even as she said the words, she knew that it was a bad idea. The wisest course would be to let Lucy be one of the many people who fell out of the world. Let her loved ones mourn and continue her existence as a vampire. Some choices weren’t about smart or stupid.

“Are you sure? You’re bringing someone into the fold. Making your own Mary.” Hana asked with a level of empathy. It was only natural, Clara supposed. She was trapped just the same way. But the younger vampire nodded, her face set. “Think about it. Remember your first night here, how awful that was? You’re doing that to another person. Someone you loved. Someone you might love again, which is worse.” She seemed passionate, almost emphatic. Clara returned her fervour with a cold stare that seemed out of place.

“This isn’t a choice. It’s been the one thing keeping me going since I crawled out of the swamp.” She responded just as firmly, fingers curling the fabric of her trousers on her lap. “I need it to be over. I need closure. There’s a part of me missing and I don’t ever expect to find it again. But I need to know it’s not with her.”

“The woman’s made up ‘er mind Hana.” Eddie returned with a firm voice, offering Clara a plastic cup. The vampire took it gladly, guzzling it down in one long sip. Though it was cold, which upset her sensibilities, she felt her body come alive. Her heartbeat returned to strength, vision sharpening. It happened after every drop of blood; wondering why she didn’t just drink more. “Ya’ll make up our minds for us. The woman’s got a right to know. We ain’t stupid just cos we don’t have fangs.” He added with a cheerful jape at Hana’s protective attitude. The petite woman narrowed her eyes at her taller comrade, sighing after a while. She had her arms folded, fingers drumming on her bicep as she considered her diminished options.

“Fine. We’ll go tomorrow. No announcements or fanfare.” Hana conceded before turning a steely look on Clara. “Be careful. You’re not just bringing vampires into her life. You’re bringing everything else we are, what we stand for. Science can’t explain us, piety won’t save you from us. Irene can curse your whole damn bloodline. The serene, sane, safe world she inhabits might be the best place for her.” She warned in what seemed to be her final word before retreating to the kitchen to make herself a coffee. Her fellow creature of the night felt bad for her, looking once more to the floor.

Mary tapped her on the shoulder as Eddie settled down to watch his favourite soap opera. Clara had never expected him to enjoy that sort of thing, but figured he had to do something between jobs and crushing it at the gym. She then turned her attention to the similarly strong sibling, who now sat on the arm of her chair.

“If you want my two cents, yer doing the right thing. Hana didn’ let me see her fangs ‘til I caught her drinkin’ some poor homeless dude.” Mary advised with an understanding look towards the kitchen, where both knew she could hear. “It’s scarier seein’ your girl eatin’ someone.” She said with emphasis that Clara felt wasn’t for her benefit. The snort of derision from the other room put to rest even the most tenacious doubt.

With the grim business of organizing their day out of the way, the housemates settled in for the evening. Eddie fully expected to get a good night’s sleep, given that it was a Saturday. There were an unsettling number of religious vampires who didn’t venture out of their homes on the sabbath. Old schoolers who still took the Good Book very literally. Whichever version they read. For the rest of them, it was a fine night. Hana and Mary curled up under a blanket on the sofa while Eddie nursed a drink. Clara used some of Cavendish’s money to order take out, making sure to avoid noodles. She didn’t want to know if vampires could do the hypnosis thing. Though as she sat there with a box of fried rice, she pondered what other cool things she could do. Lately, she just felt like an undead human. She gave the question to the floor, prompting Hana to laugh a little too hard.

“Sorry, we’re babies. We can’t do shit.” Hana chuckled into her ribs. Her mouth was smeared with sauce. Mary looked on disapprovingly. Clara felt there had been many a domestic over that element of their relationship. “I’m in my nineties, feed just enough to keep myself alive. The way I like it. And that’s what most of us are like. The only one who gets to do cool shit is Cavendish, maybe Sam.” She continued after finishing her mouthful. Eddie nodded from behind his beer and pointed with a finger toward Mary.

“’Member when he saved our asses down in the French Quarter? Got stuck in a gang of fresh ones. He jus’ turned into mist an’ scared ‘em half to death.” He recalled with a strong swig of his beer. Then, his hand ran down the majority of his shoulder. Clara read the names solemnly. Eire, Patrick, John. Irish lads by the names, all probably long gone after pissing off Cavendish. “’Course he was always a cruel bastard. Sam tol’ us about a time he had twenty guys fight until ten were left. Provin’ who was in charge.” The large man motioned with his beer before downing it. He then leant down to retrieve a second can, popping it with a satisfied air.

“Sink it for ‘em, Ed.” Mary instructed as she lifted her own drink in toast. Hana and Clara echoed their sentiment, the Brit unsure exactly why. She was old fashioned in any case. You always honoured the dead. “They’re in a better place now.” She snorted as she threw back the beverage.

“How’re you so sure, Madonna?” Eddie jibed with a mischievous grin.

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“They ain’t anywhere close to Cavendish. Or N’Orleans.” Mary shot back as she shifted Hana’s legs from her lap to retrieve another can. Clara was happy to watch them, content to see an island of happiness in so much uncertainty. Even if the spectre at their proverbial feast hadn’t crawled out of a bog, she’d seen enough of this city to think the supernatural elements alone were dire. She wondered briefly what Britain’s supernatural scene was like. A small part of her hoped werewolves were real too. The furries deserved at least some wish fulfilment.

“Man, I can’t wait to be pushing Old Eddie Stephens in his wheelchair to feed the ducks, personally.” Clara grinned broadly, buoyed by her own fanciful thoughts. The man himself shrugged with a smirk as he tipped back another draught.

“If I make it that far. ‘Sides, way the world’s goin’ this city’s like to be underwater. An’ you’ll probably wanna go back to England.” He pontificated with a pessimistic air. Though it wasn’t grim pessimism. He seemed to rather enjoy the absurdity of it all. Saving a city that was slowly sinking into the ocean. Though there was one thing that didn’t sit right with her.

“Britain. Or the United Kingdom.” She corrected with a chiding air. She didn’t want to spoil the fun after all. It only seemed to make it worse as all three broke out into their best drunken British accents, mocking her for worrying over such a distinction. She wasn’t about to let that stand, obviously! “What? It’s like saying all of the USA is California. You seriously going to tell me you’d be okay with me saying New Orleans is San Francisco?” She argued with a level of incredulity.

“Difference is, I can’t drive from New Orleans to San Fran in three hours. And trust me, I’ve made that journey.” Hana smirked over her wine. Clara looked at her with raised eyebrows at that revelation. “What? I’m not that old. My niece lives in Cali. I don’t go often. She’s insufferable about the whole vampire thing.” She shrugged while licking the sauce from one of her ribs. Her housemate thought that over for a few moments. What a hypocrite. Then again, humans were nothing but a confusing mass of contradiction. And what was a vampire but a human with a superiority complex? “You’re telling me you’re not going to run back to Britain and talk to Lucy Sr. and your dad? Cassius. Oof, by the way. That’s a damn name.” Hana asked pointedly, more to highlight her use of the right word than anything else. Though Clara had to agree on the name. That was some rich people nomenclature right there.

“I’d like to. Really, I want to meet them. But I need to make things right with my girlfriend. Whomst you have not named, by the way. Clever, keep the crazy indoors.” Clara pondered with her legs kicked up on the arm of her chair, boots slowly finding their way off her feet over the course of the evening. Lugging around that much leather got tiresome, even for the undead. “But I like you guys. God knows why. I’m not going to squat in your house forever, but I could see myself in this sinking city with you and that dick on the docks. He’s a paternalistic patronizing prick. But that makes him kinda easy to manipulate.” She shrugged as she set aside her empty plate. With a grunt she cracked her back and scuttled to the kitchen to get her and Hana some extra blood. Or vitae or sanguine or whatever pretentious Greco-Roman verbiage they used. She understood why, really. A bunch of old farts got immortality and decided that their historical biases should become canonical for all vampires. Much like every other facet of society.

Man, she was political when she’d drank more than three glasses. Of course, that was most people. But she was dead, so it was impressive. And people not knowing you drank blood was handy. ‘Course you could always not discuss your vampiric constitution where the uninitiated might hear. They had clubs specifically for this, after all. She pushed her thoughts away as she passed a cup to Hana, preferring to sip hers directly from the bag. It was like a macabre juice box. Fun!

“What’s up? You look like yer tryin’ to lay an egg.” Eddie grunted from his repose. The man looked like he was about to doze off. Between the drink and the fact that he hunted vampires for a living, Clara was going to err more on the side of him being a badass than a lightweight.

“Enjoying not thinking about the serious stuff for once. I could use more nights like this, to be honest.” She laughed a little. They spent the next few hours surfing the strangest, vilest, most cringe-inducing TV they could find only to crack jokes at its expense. The jokes got progressively worse the more drunk the humans got. Hana seemed to get drunk at a far slower rate than Clara, who was intermittently dozing and laughing at the intense cooking challenge shows the US had. There was one very enthusiastic Japanese guy shouting about potatoes, for some reason. Mary and Hana were the first to go, the latter helping the former to bed with a grin. Eddie eventually made his way to the sofa and passed out after a surprisingly deep conversation. Clara sat there, staring into the middle distance as she thought over what they’d discussed. Hotdogs were indeed sandwiches.

The young vampire eventually placed a blanket on Eddie, switching off the telly. She made her way to the guest room, feeling the drunkenness begin to leave her already. Vampires could get hung over, but they were mercifully short. This was the trade-off. By the time Clara had finished preparing for bed and laid upon it, she felt the splitting headache starting. As she threw her trousers from the bed, they crunkled and slapped. It reminded her of their contents. She crawled out of bed with narrowed eyes. Even in pitch black, vamp-vision made light sensitivity a hell on earth. It also made discerning the contents of her pocket easier.

Leaning half out of her bed, duvet clinging to her hips, Clara picked up the letter and pine box before squirming into the warm confines of her bed. Nothing more than a pair of arms and shoulders propped up on her pillows, she first took the letter. She had no time for preserving fancy seals or indeed looking at them. She opened the letter with a snap of wax, sliding a perfumed page from within. It was an alluring scent that reminded her of freshly baked bread. She didn’t even know they made perfumes like that. With some trepidation burning at the back of her thoughts, she slipped open the letter to see a flowing, elegant cursive script straight out of the 19^th century.

‘Dearest Clara, I am writing this in the sincere hope you will choose to follow your instincts.’ It began, with a sufficiently flowery introduction. She could almost hear the received pronunciation. ‘Now that you have found this, my contingency, know that I hate you. The fear and anger burning in my breast cannot and will not be sated by trite apologies. This is above and beyond angst and has strayed into damnable petulance.’ The writer continued, chewing her out for what offence her addled mind wasn’t quite sure. Was this the mystery girlfriend? Because if so, she was definitely not visiting tomorrow. ‘No doubt you have great many questions due to your incapacity. And I cannot answer all of them, merely lead you down the garden path. Within the box I left at the Teller’s holdings, you will find a finger bone carved with signs. I wrapped it in string, in case you’re particularly forgetful. Or stupid, given the course of action you’ve chosen.’ Okay, ouch. This letter read less like a supportive figure and more like a review written by New York’s cattiest food critic. ‘Wear it under your clothes at all times. There are many who would kill to obtain it. You should have no problem with this request, unless you still insist on that absurd getup. It will help you. Read the signs, if you like. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of criticisms later. Know that despite the censorious tone of this letter, I am still deeply, irrevocably in love with you. Dominika forced me to write that, on the assumption that you do not already know it. Auset also sends her love. Sincerest, deepest affections, Livia.’ Well, that was a turn for the ages. Livia Juliana? The wicked witch of Michigan had a crush on her? She began to doze off before something firmly reminded her to finish reading. ‘PS- Please do not trust Sam. The last time you two spoke, I was reliably informed that he was being very friendly. I shall deal with him. You stay well clear, lest we all live to regret it.’ What a strange letter. Though she needed no reminding on the Sam front. He was a very strange man, probably just insane given the sincerity he’d spoken to her. Had her living self been chatting to all these vampires? A curious development. Perhaps she’d turned herself into a vampire as a desperate attempt to fake her own death. What a hilariously inept plan. Memory loss was a new one, but death was hardly going to be smooth on anyone.

Clara opened the box with a sigh, turning the bone over in her fingers. It felt familiar, tied with a leather string. The markings, letters probably, were numerous. Lots of rows written for many contingencies. The main ones seemed to be themed around communication, dreams and visions. She began to murmur the words to herself, trying to identify the language. It sounded ancient, a conglomeration of sounds from across Europe’s languages. She wrapped the string about her wrist, palming the bone. It had a calming effect, strangely. The anxiety and anger began to ebb as if she could sense her love coming ever closer. Though whether that pertained to Livia or the mysterious woman, she knew not. Thoughts swirling could not stop the tide of sleep as it overcame her, arms slipping under the covers.

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