A Vampire’s Guide to History: Chapter Three

When Sally Faraday was about to turn six, for her birthday party she’d wished for a fairy cake and streamers that looked like tree branches. She’d wanted to wear her fairy costume all week—the one with the wings and glittery tulle skirt—but her mother had only allowed it for her birthday weekend because for school her uniform had been a non-negotiable. Even though Sally at twenty-four could sympathize with her mother, Sally’s six-year old self had thought the demands utterly anti-magical. Her brother, her senior by five years, was the one who had taught her the word ”anti”. He was also the one who told her conspiratorially that she should think of herself as a fairy in disguise, undercover alongside the other children to understand what human life was really like.

So, for that week, and for a good while after, little Sally Faraday had whispered to herself, with a pout she’d been unable to quit though it came combined with a small smile at the cheekiness of her words: ”I’m a fairy in disguise.”

Magic had been everywhere when she was a kid but then she’d become a sensible teenager. She’d no longer had time for dreams; she’d begun to set goals for herself instead.

At thirteen (and a week) she’d found herself in the backrooms of a musty old theater in the village over from where she grew up. A friend’s aunt had invited them for the afternoon because her niece wanted to be an actor. Sally had become mesmerized by what aunt Val was occupied with, meticulously and patiently restoring a backdrop that had been discovered during a basement overhaul. Sally had sat with Val for hours as Val talked her through what she was doing and why. It had been the lightbulb moment that brought Sally out of childhood fun and play and into the ambition of knowing what she wanted to do with her adulthood.

Patrick was the same. They’d bonded over their love of history and art and preservation but even more so over their list-making and planning ahead-ing that had brought their relationship into symbiosis. They both had goalposts that they were aiming for; they both cheered the other on as they worked their way towards crossing them. They were in it together.

This was why it was quite the shock to her, sitting on Patrick’s bed, watching him move around the space like someone possessed, chattering in a way she had never heard him chatter, all the while avoiding eye contact. He never avoided eye contact. Sometimes she’d lose her breath because of how he wouldn’t break eye contact, everything he felt but couldn’t quite articulate evident to her in the way he looked at her.

Now, for the first time since she’d known him, she wondered if he was on something. Neither of them partook, not even to keep the lights on during exams season, but perhaps the pressure of leaving Rome had gotten to him. The damned rascals he’d spent the previous evening with could easily have slipped him something too. Her skin flushed hot with fury at the very thought of it.

Her Patrick, who would ask her how her day had been while rubbing her arms because he knew the gesture comforted her. He’d want to know all about the mundane tasks she’d listed and then checked off as she got them done. He’d want to know about her studies too. Once he’d made handwritten flashcards just to help her crack the memorization of dates and places for an art history class she’d been afraid she was failing. He’d quizzed her for hours and she’d nailed the exam but more importantly she’d understood how deeply she was in love with him.

Her Patrick, who was the most reliable part of her life, and had been for nearly four years, but who was in the middle of what appeared to be a mental breakdown. He was babbling. He never babbled. It wasn’t that he wasn’t lively with her. In group settings he might be the quiet one, the observer and listener, but with those he kept close he was open. However, he didn’t babble, or rant. Now he was doing both on topics that kept switching between making little sense to no sense at all.

”You know,” he said, like it was a given. ”Because of the weather. Anyway, I was thinking about catacombs. Or was I? Can’t remember exactly why I was thinking about that of all things. Or was it tunnels? Tunnels? Really? Why would I have been—oh! That’s right. It was because of that thing we talked about? Oh, I don’t know, a few nights ago we talked about it while we were making plans for that other, you know. What was it again? I forget. Funny how that happens, isn’t it? I’ll remember. I swear, if I don’t talk about it for five minutes it’ll be like—smack!—in my head. Like magic almost.”

He laughed nervously to himself and repeated the word ’magic’ before continuing with the nonsense run-on sentences. On and on it had gone on since the moment she unlocked the door. Something he’d also asked her to do.

She hadn’t thought much of it but watching him take his third turn into the bathroom, where he proceeded to rummage through the cabinet above the sink for no earthly reason whatsoever, she was beginning to question it, along with everything else.

She was beginning to think he looked like someone barely afloat and she couldn’t tell what was drowning him. He was treading water, buying time instead of telling her what was wrong. She’d never seen him so worked up, not even during exams. His behavior was too erratic for it not to signal red all over.

”It made me really think,” his voice came from the bathroom like some disembodied soul and she felt apprehension like a row of talons across her shoulder blades.

Then he appeared, smiling that smile of his that made her brain turn to mush in the most relaxing way. It made it easier to trust that he had whatever this was under control, even though it wasn’t obvious to her.

”You know?” he asked, as though he hadn’t paused for thirty seconds at least, both of them caught in a shared smile.

If he smiled, she smiled. It was reflexive.

”Think of what?” she prompted an elaboration.

”Time,” he replied, then mumbled, ”I really did think about time.”

Sadness settled itself in his expression. It was unfamiliar and unwelcome. She wanted to chase it away, invite the smile back. Only, before she could speak he continued, ”I mean, I thought about time in the context of how to spend it and now…” He trailed off, eyes caught in hers and she could’ve sworn the sadness made way for regret. ”It’s really big,” he nodded slowly. ”I don’t even know where to start with this. I didn’t think…” He smiled briefly, a flash of relief in her mind, but then he looked away from her again, finishing, ”Didn’t think about that.”

The talons were back, sharper this time, and she straightened her posture as she knew she was going to have to prod for him to level with her.

”Patrick,” she said, his eyebrows lifting in a query. ”What’s going on?”

He pursed his lips, nodding in recognition that of course she would ask that. Of course she would know that he needed to level with her. Then he shook his head, another brief smile on his mouth before he suddenly sat down on the bed next to her, reaching for one of her hands. Her eyes were already in his but she could see something different about his irises now that he was completely focused on her. The blue was a deeper color, the black of his pupils expanding as he stared at her, searching for the right words.

”You’re never going to believe me,” he said. ”I don’t have any proof.”

She furrowed her brow.

”Did they drug you?” she asked matter-of-factly, squeezing his hand. ”Do we need to see a doctor? Call your dad, if you haven’t already. He’ll know what to do.”

Patrick blinked, then threw his head back and laughed. A nervous giggle escaped her, a frown making her brows dip as he focused back on her. ”Sorry,” he apologized. ”It’s not really that funny it’s more… not funny than funny but… also it’s sort of hilarious.”

She pulled her hand out of his grasp, her body stiffening at the way the smile lingered on his mouth at whatever private joke he was getting lost in. This wasn’t like him. What the hell was this? The smile faded when he noticed the changes to her. He immediately softened, looking more like himself again as concern chased away the last of the mirth.

”I’m sorry,” he said with more sincerity. ”I had an accident last night and I’m a bit…”

She grabbed his hand again, leaning forward into his space without a moment’s hesitation, her free hand on his forehead before it began sliding down his face, neck, shoulder, searching for any place that might signal hurt or pain. ”What happened?” she asked as she went. ”What kind of accident? Why didn’t you text me? Did you go to hospital? Jesus, Patrick, it’d be just like you to go home and believe you can sleep it off. Was it serious?”

His hand wrapped around her fluttering one, bringing it down to join the one holding onto his. He was smiling again. ”Just like you to make a hen out of a feather,” he remarked gently.

”An accident is already a hen,” she said impatiently. ”Are you okay?”

”Well…” he said slowly, his gaze sliding out of hers and down to her mouth.

He couldn’t possibly be thinking about sex in the middle of his explanation. She felt like smacking him on the head but then his arms were wrapping around her and he was pulling her to him, burying his face against the sloping of her throat as if his nose was searching for a scent it was afraid of forgetting.

She sighed, placing her hands on his shoulders, unable to deny the soft arousal that was already moving through her at his closeness. His cologne was faint, remnants of the night prior, but it still turned her on. She’d kept a bottle on her nightstand so she could have a spray of it lingering in the air as she went to bed without him for his three months in Rome. She moved a hand into his hair, an affectionate stroke that turned into a fistful, pulling at his head to get it away from her skin when his teeth were suddenly biting the side of her neck.

It didn’t take much strength to get him off her. His eyes were already rounding, mouth agape, shocked at his own behavior. She almost slapped him but instead she got to her feet, pressing one hand against the spot, bringing it away to look at it. There were traces of blood across her palm.

”What the hell is the matter with you?” she exclaimed, hand beginning to tremble. ”Is this some new thing you picked up in Rome? When there, do as the Romans or something?”

He shook his head, fingers prodding along his gums while he continued to look idiotically at her, uncomprehending in the most infuriating way. She couldn’t hand-hold him through his own abuse, for Christ’s sake.

”You just assaulted me!” she raised her voice in ways she never did. ”Say something!”

His fingers were out of his mouth, eyes blinking, lips moving as if wanting to form words but as had been the trend for the whole of her visit he seemed perfectly incapable of saying much of anything.

”It’s like a sickness,” he tried and she felt rage like something ice-cold in her veins.

”No kidding!” she yelled, turning from him, grabbing her coat and bag and storming out, slamming the door behind her.

*

Patrick was at the door before thinking twice about it, his hand twisting the doorknob, pulling the door open. He was halfway down the corridor in Sally’s wake, about to call her name as she was just turning the corner for the elevators when he smelled it.

The blood.

The scent was lingering on the air like a million microscopic flecks of the stuff was still hanging there, suspended, waiting for him. He couldn’t help it—he inhaled deeply. The coppery taste teased itself across his tongue and he slowed his step to a halt. His body felt heavy and weightless at the same time, weighed down by guilt and regret but floating all the same. It wasn’t addictive, the taste. It was freedom.

Eternity rested in it and now it was nestling into his bones, making its home there.

He was immortal.

It wasn’t an abstract thought because he could feel the truth of it like something healing within, grazing up against his veins with every new moment. Moments that seemed to stretch, break down, build themselves back up around him, fluctuate and yet remain steady  as if he was growing aware of the structure of time itself.

His mind moved with it, reaching across space, opening like a flower to the sun.

He stood perfectly still, listening, but everything was quiet.

No super-hearing; no super-strength? Stuck in his room for a whole day? Sure, he could sense a gentle need for blood but there was no ravenous thirst for it. What kind of weird-ass immortality was this?

He turned his head to his surroundings, startled as he clocked he was, in fact, out of his room. He looked back at the door still standing ajar, reluctant to return inside incase it was some inexplicable piece of this magic that had allowed him to exit. The blood. It might have acted as a key of some sort. Was he going to have to bite his way through life to have some semblance of freedom?

He thought of the soft warmth of Sally’s neck beneath his lips, the gentle rush of her pulse beating against the pressure he was applying as if it wanted him to taste it. The compulsion had been like falling asleep, rocked by arms that want nothing more than to keep you safe. It had been seductive, soft, infinitely calming. Loving, even.

But Sally hadn’t felt the same.

His heart clenched at the look on her face.

How the hell was he going to explain this to her? How was he going to tell her…?

He couldn’t even finish the thought. Incapable, just as he had been for their entire exchange, to put into words what exactly had happened to him. He had struggled with how to put it into words for himself much less the person he trusted with his life, with his future. The person who had trusted him with hers. They were on track to share that future with one another, to build something great together, and now…

”Fuck.”

He had meant to yell the word but it came out deflated.

He couldn’t resolve anything with Sally now. He couldn’t be near her without knowing for sure he wouldn’t try to bite her again. No, he would leave her for later. A little later, not much later; just late enough that he had a better handle on what the hell ”immortality” was meant to entail for him anyway. Enhanced memory wasn’t something he would’ve put down on his vampire bingo card, that was for damn sure, but as of now that was the only marker he could put down. Didn’t exactly make him feel like a winner.

He hesitated another handful of seconds before he walked up to the bedroom door, taking one step inside and quickly jumping back out again. There was nothing keeping him from moving through the doorway this time. He didn’t trust it and repeated the movement a few more times, pausing as one of his new classmates walked past with a soft frown between her brows.

”Morning,” he greeted, realizing it was evening too late to correct himself. ”Great,” he muttered.

He needed to text his professor and come up with some excuse for missing his first class. Vampirism didn’t sound convincing enough. The flu, maybe. He woke delirious at 5pm and barely remembered where he was. Gavin nursed him back to cognition, allowing him to send a text now at… Patrick crossed the bedroom to his bedside table, touching the screen of his mobile phone to check to time.

22:32.

Oh. Fuck.

He couldn’t text his professor after 10pm there was no way. His mother had practically beat it into him that it wasn’t polite to reach out to anyone after 7pm. He still struggled to text Sally after 7:05, no matter how close they were and whatever grooves they’d created for themselves in their relationship.

If they still had a relationship.

No. He was not thinking about that now.

Gavin had called.

Good.

He’d go see Gavin. His best mate was going to help him figure this whole thing out. Gavin wasn’t the most together person, that much was true, but he was clever. He had street smarts. He could read a room in a moment and would’ve become a very successful salesman if he had any interest in selling things. Or reading the rooms he entered. He’d changed the focus of his studied four times in three years and still wasn’t entirely happy with his latest choice: agriculture. Still, he had been a steady part of Patrick’s life since they met at sixteen in a gaming room, and he was the foremost reason Patrick had dared to apply to Oxford in the first place. Besides Sally, Gavin was one of the few people in the world whom Patrick truly trusted.

He knew he could trust him with this.