Ludicrous! Yet, here in front of her was the very image of how she imagined a vampire would look, albeit shorter.
Everything in Irene's body felt flipped around; weightlessness defied the opposing sensation of feet firmly planted on the ground. But how? And why? Feeling unstable, she reached out for something to steady herself, but even that small movement provoked a prickling sensation in her gut.
"Ah yes, child of darkness, creature of the night, and blood sucking fiend, at your service," Cyrus's voice pulled her from her thoughts to the perturbing reality. The self-proclaimed vampire extended out his arms and bowed.
This sudden transformation from savage to feigned elegance thawed the panic-induced freeze, allowing Irene's anger to finally form words. She almost did not recognize her own voice as it rumbled out of her throat. "Go to hell."
Cyrus slithered up to her and slung his arm about Irene's shoulders. "But my vacation isn't over yet." Goosebumps puckered her skin as she recoiled from his touch.
"I don't care. Get away from me." Irene's voice was low and hardly audible over her thumping heart. She wanted to shriek to release the tension built up in her chest, but she felt almost as if a loud sound might set this chuckling hyena off.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you. I have bigger ambitions for you," Cyrus lightly tapped her nose with his finger. A spidery sensation tingled all over her skin at his touch. Reflexively, Irene flailed, slapping Cyrus before she could stop herself. Panic at what she had done flooded her nerves as she felt the pain of him grabbing her wrist once again. A whimper caught in her throat.
“You should take more care not to slap me. It doesn't hurt, but it is demeaning,” Cyrus pulled Irene closer.
Irene clenched her teeth. "Let me go or else…" Her threats were all empty. She was a chihuahua barking at a wolf. But it gave her the illusion of standing up for herself, the way her sister had always done for her.
"What are you going to do? Stab me with scissors again?" Cyrus smiled, his hands gripping her goosebump-riddled arms. "You're nothing to me, puny mortal. But I'm not an ungracious beast, except when I'm hungry. Now then. Let's review."
Irene had no choice but to listen; as long as he was talking, he wasn't hurting her. But what happens when he's done talking? What do I do then? Think.
"You saved my life, out of civic duty no doubt. Which means that out of civic duty you will not call the cops or tell anyone about what I am, because then they'd have to die. You wouldn't want that to happen, right?"
Irene dropped her gaze. "No."
"Good girl," Cyrus released her upper arms, then Irene immediately folded them over her chest protectively. "Now that you are calm I can explain a few things. Firstly, if you are religious, don't think a priest or shaman can save you. Pray, if you like, but it won't do you any good."
Prayer never did... Irene thought bitterly. An itching sensation surfaced, disrupting her focus while Cyrus monologued. However, she maintained eye contact with him, trying not to get distracted.
"Second, take a good look, mortals can't hurt me." Cyrus gestured to the fresh laceration which was closing up before her eyes. The other wounds were healing as well. Another surge of butterflies twirled in her stomach; Irene did not want to believe her own eyes, but she could not fathom how this could be a trick.
The irritation on her cheek flared up again, and she couldn't stop herself from scratching. She dropped her gaze to inspect her nails; cinnabar flakes clumped at the tips. That was his blood beneath her fingernails, not hers. He was not impervious; she could hurt him. She clung on to this fact to keep herself from tumbling into another panic. Even with his ability to heal quickly, a critical wound ought to stop him. "And for that matter... Are you paying attention?"
Irene looked up from her hands. "Yes," she responded dully. She eyed the pink streak along Cyrus's collarbone. He wore what remained of the cut like a stray thread hanging off old knitwear. Her attention wandered to her own wound. There was no pain in her neck; there was barely any sensation at all.
"Well then! I'm claiming your basement as my new lair," Cyrus stated, crossing his arms over his chest.
"No! Get out!" Irene blurted in a panic. The idea of this monster staying in her basement escalated her heart to a new level of dread.
"I thought you said you were paying attention. Did I not make myself clear?"
He's dangerous, but he sounds more boastful than hostile. Maybe he can be reasoned with. Irene took several breaths to recollect her composure, trying to stop herself from more hazardous outbursts. "Yes, but let me be clear. I helped you. If you truly are grateful, you should leave."
"Oh ho ho! Quite the little diplomat. Too bad, we're already squared on that count. I mean, I did spare your life despite you being a liability AND being really tasty." Irene's stomach clenched in response to Cyrus' lip smacking. "But you seem like a smart girl and I am confident that you won't do anything stupid." He paused to thoroughly leer at her, emphasizing the journey his gaze took over her body with raised eyebrows and declined chin. Irene shuddered, getting the impression that she was being appraised like livestock.
"Why stay here, though? Why won't you just leave? I won't tell anyone..."
"I'm looking for a, oh what's that fancy term, ah..." Cyrus snapped his fingers then pointed. "A symbiotic relationship. You give me shelter and amusement, and I can offer protection and a wide variety of interesting services." The vampire steepled his fingers together. "Don't suppose you have any stalkerish ex-boyfriends you want dealt with?"
Irene shook her head.
"Teachers you want leaned on?"
Mortified, she shook her head with greater vehemence.
"Bullies humiliated? Gossips silenced?"
"No."
"Rich uncles expired?"
"NO!" Irene threw her arms in the air as an expression of cumulative exasperation.
"Oh well." Cyrus shrugged.
Irene studied him warily from a distance. She took a moment to digest his proposal. "I don't want anything you could offer, and there's nothing amusing about any of this." She wanted to turn away, but did not dare turn her back on this enemy. "Amusement... probably after the same thing most men are..." she muttered bitterly.
"Most men? Are you telling me you've met a man whose mind isn't always preoccupied with copulating?" Cyrus asked, feigning an expression of shock and awe.
"Copulating?"
"It means to-"
"I know what it means!" Irene snapped. "It's just not the word I expected from someone so vulgar."
"I can't be vulgar and know big words? Tsk," Cyrus responded with a fake hint of hurt in his voice. "Besides, I find your statements very sexist."
"I'm sexist?" Irene cleared her throat noisily, cutting off Cyrus as he began to counter. "I don't think all men are that way. I know plenty of respectful guys. My b-" Irene stopped herself. That's none of his business!
"You're what? Boyfriend? How cute." Cyrus teased. Irene glared. "I had a woman who respected me once! The way she used to call me master… ah yes just the sort of respect that lacks in this day and age." Wistful and prolonged, a sigh escaped him as he slipped into facetious reverie.
“Had a woman? Oh and how much did she cost?” Once Irene realised she spoke that quip out loud, her hands flew to cover her mouth. Her defenses were down and she was running on adrenalized fumes. She watched him guardedly, bracing herself for reprisal.
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“About eighty guineas..."
Irene furrowed her brow. Guineas? He didn't appear to her to be offended by her banter, and she slowly lowered her hand. She was struggling to figure out what would or would not trigger hostility in him, and that brought back a new wave of terror. Yet oddly, it also motivated her to continue to explore her boundaries and try to make sense of her situation.
"But that isn't the point.” Cyrus brushed his hand in the air with a wave of dismissal.
Irene wondered if there was some way to disconcert him and take back control. "It must be hard, living so long among people with short lives." She was scouting for a new angle, looking for anything she could use to her advantage. Something subtle. She already failed in an open assault.
“What is this, an interview?" Cyrus fluffed the pillow. "I'll answer your personal questions only if you answer mine.” His insufferable grin was on the rebound. "Tell me about this supposedly respectful boy-toy. Broody poet, excitable geek, or strapping jock? Hmm probably not that latter since you mentioned respect."
"Now who is making assumptions?" Irene countered as she took an experimental step towards the door.
"Touché."
"Besides, what interest would a vampire have in my personal life?”
Cyrus shrugged, but for a change, didn't respond. Irene waited a moment, watching him as he stretched out and made himself comfortable. Is he bored already? Maybe now's my chance. She tip-toed closer to the exit.
“You know, Irene..." Irene jumped at the sound of his voice and halted. "...I'm not the only vampire in the streets…”
“So?” Irene turned back towards him, making sure he was still on the bed. Cyrus looked over, and she immediately put her back to the wall. Just a few more steps and I'll be through the door.
Cyrus laced his fingers together and rested them on his stomach. “Mere mortals could not have beaten me. You're lucky the other vampires were too worried about sunrise to notice you quivering nearby."
"Get to the point."
"Most mortals that knowingly encounter a vampire have physiological reactions, and well, being drinkers of blood, we thrive on feeling these sorts of reactions.” Cyrus pointed to Irene. "For example, I know you have been hiding your fear from the beginning, even before you knew what I was. Your heart is racing, blood pressure is up, and everything is flowing to your extremities to help you run or fight." Irene swallowed hard, unsure how he could tell all of this from across the room. "You'll be exhausted soon."
“Why are you telling me this?”
“For your own safety. It took me great pains not to finish you off, and I would hate it if you ended up as another vampire's meal after I made such a dire sacrifice." Cyrus smirked, but then his tone took on uncharacteristic seriousness. "Most vampires detest mortals seeing through their façade." He paused, idly picking under his fingernails. "I wouldn't go out after dark, if I were you. You've got a target on your back.” Irene drew in a large breath, almost choking on the tense air. There was a lot to process but her brain was no longer up to the task. All she could feel now was bewilderment. "Anyway, I strongly suggest you get out of those bloody clothes and go shower. That can't be hygienic."
Irene's hand went to her neck. It was tacky with coagulating blood, but there was no pain at the site of the bite. It should sting. I should feel something. Did all this really happen, or am I going mad? No. As long as I can ask that question, I am sane.
Weakness beleaguered her knees as the last of the adrenaline faded. Irene wanted to scramble out, but she could only manage a dejected stumble towards the stairs, relying heavily on the banister for support.
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Cacophony. Confusion. Cognizance.
Images quickly fled, as sound became flashes of red light against delicate veins. Pain throbbed through Irene's addled head. A groan escaped, sheets whispered as she shifted. The sensation of a tear-crusted pillow against her cheek did little to reassure her that she had been dreaming. Why wouldn’t that ringing stop?
A period of silence lulled Irene back to sleep, only for the return of a ringtone to jar her awake. The shrillness of the sound provoked her headache further. Irritated, she thrust herself up from her bed. Who would be calling at this hour?
Irene cleared her eyes, looked over at her alarm clock, and gasped. Wait! Is it five in the morning or evening? Bewildered, Irene looked towards the window and another pang shot through her skull. Through the trees the amber glow of sunset peeped at her. Irene shut her eyes and fumbled to close her curtains. Just as she quelled one attack on her raw senses, the phone launched a reprisal. She shambled towards the kitchen phone.
"Hello?"
“IRENE! You FINALLY picked up! I'm so glad to hear your voice!”
Irene held the receiver away from her ear, wincing at Merle's shouting.
“What is it, Merle?” Irene asked, the croak of deep slumber lingering.
“Where have you BEEN? You NEVER miss school without telling me!"
Irene pinched the bridge of her nose. “I… uh...” Instantly Irene’s hand flew to her neck. All her fingertips experienced was smooth, unmarred skin. There should be a bump, a scab, anything.
"You don't sound good. Are you sick? I'll ask if I can come stay with you. It sucks being sick and alone.”
“N-No Merle! I will be fine! I just need a bit more rest. You’ll see me at school tomorrow, I promise!” Irene swore frantically.
There was silence, followed by a hesitant giggle.
“Tomorrow is Saturday. Really, Irene. For once I think you should take this more seriously.” Merle peeped incredulously.
Irene sighed, shook her head, then winced from the resulting nausea.
"I can take care of myself!" Irene snapped, then put her hand over her mouth, feeling a warning lurch in her stomach.
"Don't bite my head off, Irene!" Irene placed her hand on her stomach and tried to stay calm as Merle stormed at her. "I have been calling and calling and you weren't picking up and I was almost getting ready to hop a ride over there and check on you! I'm just really concerned and you SNAP at me!" Merle sputtered. Before Irene could protest, Merle's voice continued. "Sorry, sorry. I know you like to show off how tough you are. But call me if you do need me."
Click.
Irene sighed and set the receiver down on its cradle. She bit her lip and tried to overcome her nausea with sheer willpower.
Should I have told Merle about Cyrus? No... that'd only get Merle into trouble. One worry opened the door, inviting its kin inside. What about when Dad returns? Will he be in danger? What would Cyrus do to him? Irene slowly lowered her eyes, a seething glare directed towards the stairs that led to the basement.
Irene rose to her feet. Trembling, she gazed down the dark stairway. Perhaps while he was resting during the day, she could drive a wooden stake through his heart. A wooden stake is how they do it in the legends and stories, right? But I don't have a wooden stake. Maybe I can make one, or a cross instead. She closed her burning eyes and quietly walked away from the narrow stairs. But what if it doesn't work? I can't take that risk. Even with a weapon, she'd be no match for him while her stomach was on edge. She needed to settle her gut.
Irene paced as she waited for her toast to pop. She nibbled on the toast, and the food did her some good. With her stomach finally settled, she struggled her feet into her runners and tied up the laces. Wiping her eyes one last time she opened the door, stepping out into the golden hue of sunset.
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The cold light, subdued colours and smell of sterile equipment made the atmosphere depressingly hollow. Shivers ran down Irene's spine as she stared at all the tubes and equipment hooked up to a waning body. She took in a deep breath and walked over to the bed, covered in white linens. Memory of a shroud filled her heart with ice.
No. Jordan will get better.
Irene stroked the back of her boyfriend's hand, fingertips tracing his pronounced knuckles. Hazel eyes partially opened, appearing sickly green in the current setting.
“Hey there, Jordan...” Irene greeted softly. A slight smile formed on his blanched face. She could barely see any of his golden hair beneath all the bandages.
“Hey… how are you?” he asked in a quiet voice.
Irene shook her head and smiled, but her heart wasn’t in it. “I’ll be fine… you?” She stroked his cheek gently, trying not to bump the air tubes leading from his nostrils.
“I don’t feel pain… I don’t really feel anything right now… but Merle was here. She was really concerned. What's going on?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you…” Irene responded, looking down. Jordan’s eyes closed and he leaned into his pillow. He remained silent for a moment. She noticed his stockinged foot poking out from beneath the covers, and pulled them down so he didn't get cold.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Jordan finally determined. She sighed and wrapped her arms around herself.
“I have an unexpected guest at my house. Do not say anything to Merle, please…” Irene pleaded softly. "I'll tell you more when I have more time."
“Okay... Just promise me you’ll visit me again soon… and tell me the rest…” Jordan requested.
Irene smiled a little and stroked his arm, navigating around the lingering bruises from repeated blood draws. “I will, but for now, don’t worry. I’ll be fine – you know I will.” She glanced at the clock. Time was running out.
“I know. You're strong," Jordan whispered. "Hey... Irene?"
"Yes?"
"Uh... you know, when we've graduated, I was thinking we could get married.” Jordan looked her straight in the eyes then quickly looked away, a bit of colour returning to his cheeks.
Married? Straight out of high school? That's too young! But... on the other hand... Once the initial surprise wore down, Irene glanced down at him sadly. Jordan's prognosis was vague at best. Complications from a craniotomy left him with a high likelihood of permanent damage. She forced a smile, pushing away her initial misgivings. On the other hand, planning for the future means he hasn't given up hope.
“A lot could happen by then." Witnessing Jordan's countenance fall in disappointment pulled at Irene's heart. She hastily added, "But… I think it’s very likely; I can’t see myself with anyone else.”
The faint smile that materialized on his face brought on a shudder. It wasn’t a shudder of pain or sorrow, but a bittersweet resonance deep within. They stared at each other in comfortable silence.
The door to Jordan's private hospital room swung open and a nurse stepped in. “Time to go."