The Heartbreaking Half-Life of Harper Marwick
By Wendy L. Callahan
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used to advance the fictional narrative. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author's imagination and not to be construed as real.
The Heartbreaking Half-Life of Harper Marwick
Published by Persephone Press
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Copyright 2013 by Wendy L. Callahan
Edited by Stacy Shanks
Cover Art by Erin Lark
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
The text of this book is set in Times New Roman
Summary: A recently turned vampire cannot forget her mortal family.
[1. Vampires – Fiction. 2. Victorian England – Fiction. 3. Gothic – Fiction. 4. Gaslamp – Fiction.]
First Edition
Persephone Press
~Dedicated to those who believe love is unending.~
The Heartbreaking Half-Life of Harper Marwick
A Gothic Tale in Three Acts by Wendy L. Callahan
One Year
1839
The flowers clutched in my hands seemed insufficient tribute to the person who lay beneath the crystalline marble headstone, but I left them there just the same.
One year today.
Society would have us believe one year was sufficient time to mourn the loss of a spouse.
My knees would not, could not, give out, even should I wish it. That was the trouble with the strength that came with immortality.
Another enigma was the fact that, while unlife gifted one with physical vitality, it did not do the same for one’s emotional state.
Dr. Dunham believed it imperative we adhere to all of society’s standards. He was fond of remonstrating us with, “Children of the night we may be, but our behavior should not be childish.”
It was Dr. Dunham who expected me to observe the standard mortal period of mourning when I became a widow. Now the year was over and there was talk of me remarrying. There was just one problem with that idea.
A single year was not sufficient to mourn myself.
1839 – Journal Entry
Being a Study of the Aftermath of Immortality
I, Dr. Abram Dunham, continue the study of my subject, one Harper Spencer. Mrs. Spencer states that she wishes to resume her maiden name, and so I shall hereinafter refer to her as Miss Marwick.
Miss Marwick displays a rather unique set of symptoms for a newborn of one year. While most vampires embrace their newfound power and status with pride, this subject retains strong attachments to the mortal realm. I believe such attachments to be detrimental to her well-being. However, I have yet to test this theory.
Act One
Kneeling over the prone figure, I took a long breath, my body shuddering with the exhalation. His blood coursed through me, reinvigorating me as it quenched my thirst.
While most of my fellow predators employed flirtation and pretense to lure their victims to them, I thought these seductions absurd and a waste of time. I felt no need to dress up this world of flesh and blood, of death and darkness, with come-hither gazes and promises of dark pleasures. Each time I took my feed in an isolated location far from the prying eyes of the rest of the world, I thought, Let the others embody seductive nightmares – all I do is exist.
I rose to my feet and stepped over the body of the poor homeless sot. He would remain sleeping in his alley until the authorities found him. In truth, what I had just done was a kindness to him, for I had cleansed his blood of that poison called gin. An eternal sleep was better than long, cold hours spent in an agitated stupor. He would never feel the relentless compulsion for alcohol again, whereas I? I was doomed to require mortal after mortal to slake my thirst.
As I pondered this unhappy state of affairs, I rounded a corner without looking. My other keen senses, however, alerted me to the man’s presence. Keeping my gaze low, I focused on making sure my smoke-gray dress was free of any bloodstains.
The smell of this man, however, was… familiar.
I walked on, my face turned away from him as we passed one another.
“Marwick?” he breathed.
I stopped and waited, unwilling to look, yet unable to proceed after hearing his voice.
“Marwick. Is it really you?”
“You-you mistake me, sir.” It was all I could think to say.
“No, surely I do not.”
It was true. Neither of us had mistaken the other. My only mistake had been in trusting the organization for which we had both once worked. Now it was an immortal error – one I was doomed to live with every day. One year had lessened the pain, but now it returned in full force.
Because of him.
I turned and faced him. “Mr. Liddell.”
He stepped toward me, reaching a hand out to touch the rich, burgundy waves of hair that I had loosely bound up at the back of my neck, as if to ascertain whether or not I was real. I let my eyes close for a moment, but then his fingers trailed down to the cold, porcelain-pale skin of my cheek. “By the gods, Marwick,” he whispered. “What has become of you?”
“I think you know the answer to that question, Mr. Liddell.” I finally raised my brown eyes to his and, with a start, realized I’d forgotten just how piercingly blue his own eyes were.
He withdrew his hand with the gradual movements of one faced with a dangerous animal they do not want to provoke, lest it strike. “I know what you are. That much is obvious. The question is how this happened.” His hand went to his jacket, and I imagined he was prepared to reach under it for one of the weapons of my previous trade – a crossbow, a stake, or some other such sharp, silver-tipped item.
“Does it really matter?”
“It matters very much when I am sworn to kill you.” He narrowed his eyes and finally raised his hand to run it through his thick, blond hair.
“Do it, then, and you will be doing me a kindness.”
After a tense moment, during which he simply stared at me, I turned and resumed my course. He called after me, but I did not respond. Instead, I let my supernatural speed carry me home faster than was decorous for any lady, immortal or not.
Since I had finished hunting for the evening, I returned home to the coterie. Some peace and quiet would do me good after my unfortunate encounter. As I stood in the front hall and unpinned my hat, I heard a strongly accented voice to my right.
“Well, if it isn’t the doctor’s favorite little trophy.” The gas lamps lit her from below, the flickering light making her appear terrifying, despite her delicate blonde beauty.
I took my time stripping off my black gloves and tossing them in the hat, before turning to respond to the remark. “Must you pounce on me the moment I walk in the door, Marie, or do you have a legitimate reason for this little display of jealousy?”
Marie stood halfway up the stairs, and glared down at me from her position. Frozen at the age of eighteen or so for the past decade,
immortality had done nothing to temper the Frenchwoman’s arrogance. If anything, she became worse with each passing year, according to the other members of the Mayfair Coterie. Since my arrival, she’d done nothing but treat me with ill-concealed contempt.
Marie tossed her head, and her curls followed the movement, bobbing like corkscrew filaments of sunshine. “The doctor wants to see you, as usual.”
“Oh, stop behaving like such a bad egg,” came another voice. “It does you no justice, you tarty little frog.”
Marie gaped at the man who sidled up to me, then stomped her foot, turned, and fled back up the stairs.
“Well now,” the other vampire said, linking his elbow with mine. “That’s the most attractive she has looked in a very long while.”
“You should know, Richard,” I answered, hard-pressed to keep the smile off my face.
“Indeed, I’ve had to put up with her these ten years now. But look at you, you ravishing young widow. Why so grave?” The swishiest of the Coterie, Richard chuckled at his own humor as he dragged me toward Dr. Dunham’s study.
“Did you not realize?” I looked at his rounded profile, a slightly pudgy sight beneath a mop of unruly brown hair. “It is one year today.”
“Then my apologies, dear lady. Of course, you realize your husband’s death was an irreversible event. There was little you could do to prevent it.”
“Yes, but did I have to die as well?” Realizing my mistake, I stopped and faced Richard. “I am sorry. You have been such a good friend, and I should not sound so ungrateful.”
He simply shook his head. “You need never apologize, my dear. It has been a most trying year for you, and the pain does not simply fade with the conversion. You will yearn for your husband time and again. As for the other things you left behind…”
“Please.” I turned away and trained my gaze on Dr. Dunham’s door. “Do not speak of it.”
“You must let go.”
“How can I when she yet lives?”
Richard shrugged and said, “I do not know, but you must. All of us must eventually.”
As I raised my hand and knocked upon the door, I responded, “When the rules of immortality include not being permitted to feel emotions, let me know.”
1839 – Journal Entry
Being a Study of the Aftermath of Immortality
Miss Marwick returned to the coterie this evening in a state of agitation. I learned that she encountered a once-trusted acquaintance. When I inquired further, she confessed to a great heartache. This only supports my theory that her remaining mortal connections are damaging to her progress as an immortal.
I suggested we address the matter directly tomorrow night. She does not share my enthusiasm for the venture, but knows she must do as I tell her.
Naturally, I am curious to see the impact of this on her. This is the first time in my existence I have ever met an immortal so affected by the bonds of their previous life.
Act Two
“This is a mistake.” I glanced around the area and I imagined a shiver running up my spine. Of course, as a vampire I could not feel such things, but I still remembered the physical and emotional sensations of humanity. Despite my inability to feel the cold, I pulled my dark green cloak tighter around my shoulders.
“You are having a great deal of trouble adjusting, and we must remedy that.” Dr. Dunham was a proud immortal, as noble and arrogant as he was wise. He never appeared to the rest of the coterie looking anything less than impeccable, his short brown hair always neatly in place, his suits crisp and of the latest fashions. Sometimes, however, he was haughty and cold, which rarely served me well. It was difficult to respect his stance about emotions – that they were the crutch that weakened mortals – when I had been mortal until only so recently.
When I looked up, the heavy double doors of the Slayer Council at Aldgate were already opening before us. The two men guarding the door glared at us, but did not draw weapons.
“Well, if it isn’t the prodigal daughter,” came a snide, feminine voice as we stepped into the darkened hall.
I lifted my chin slightly and answered, “Miss Crawley.”
Annabelle Crawley held a single taper candle and stared at me, a sneer on her face as her gaze raked me from head to toe. She had once been my very closest confidante. Now, without even knowing the circumstances of my conversion, she was my enemy.
“Am I still to refer to you as Mrs. Spencer? No, that would be far too respectable for a leech.”
At her words, I clenched my fist beneath my cloak.
“Even after both Andrew Spencer and Frederick Liddell both proposed to you, I had the good grace to accept that you were their choice; that neither one of them felt even a hint of love for me, as I did for them. It pains me to see you disgrace not just the Marwick name, but the Spencer name as well.”
Though her voice reverberated off the walls, I kept mine to a whisper. “We were friends once, Annabelle, despite any romantic rivalries.”
“Do not call me by my given name, you immortal trollop! Bloodsucking harlot!”
“Enough!” a voice boomed down the hall. “Bring them in here, Crawley.”
She stared at me a moment longer and her fingers twitched against the crossbow strapped to her hip. Then she gestured toward the voice. “You know the way.”
Dr. Dunham did not look perturbed, but I noticed a glint in his eye and how his fingers tightened on his walking stick. Most humans, even ones with the training of the Slayers, did not notice such details. I, however, now had the senses of a supernatural creature, and I knew Annabelle was dangerously close to plucking the doctor’s last nerve. If there was one thing he could not abide, it was rudeness.
We strode forward into the large meeting room I had visited at least once a day since I was an adolescent, until last year. The only light emanated from the candelabrum in the center of the large table, leaving the corners and edges of the room in shadow. There stood the two people I was not sure I could face again. No… Three people
For there was Frederick Liddell once again.
“I knew he would report back to them after encountering you,” Dr. Dunham had told me, “so we must go and explain your existence, lest they think you without protection.”
I moved my gaze to the other two people. “Fath—”
“You lost the right to call me that upon your conversion,” the man interrupted, his hands flat on the table between us. My father’s dark brown hair was unruly as ever, his hazel eyes hard as he glared at me. “Could you tell me what the devil possessed you to show your face here?”
“Harold, please.” The short, slender woman next to him reached out and placed her hand on the man’s arm. Her titian hair was more brown than red, but pretty all the same. I’d always hoped to look like her one day. “Harper,” she said, turning back to me. “You know what disgrace your new status brings with it. Why are you here?”
“Miss Marwick encountered Mr. Liddell the other evening,” Dr. Dunham interjected and motioned toward Frederick with his walking stick. “I felt it prudent to come and tell you she is aligned with the Mayfair Coterie, so you know she is not a danger.”
“How dare you reclaim your birth name?” my father hissed. He strained even more forward, as if he would leap across the table if possible. “You are a disgrace to our name and our occupation.”
Even though he could not reach me – even though I could snap him like a biscuit and drink his blood like tea – I took a step back.
“She is not looking for your acceptance; only your understanding that she is not to be targeted –”
“Someone betrayed Andrew!” I cried, unable to contain my outburst.
All eyes turned to me and I hit my fist against my open hand.
“One of our own killed Andrew Spencer, and Dr. Dunham changed me to protect me.”
“Why would you do such a thing?” My father did not address the question to me, but to
the other vampire.
“Mr. Spencer made me promise to look after his wife, and so I have fulfilled that promise. Miss Marwick wishes only to know that her… family is well. I would merely have written to inquire, had Mr. Liddell not met her only last night.”
“We are no longer your family,” my father said, his voice low.
I shifted my glance to the petite woman at his side. “Is that how you feel too, mother?”
She shook her head. “Your father and I have followed the Slayer Code all our lives. Our parents raised us as slayers. We know no other way.”
“And Alexandra? What of my daughter?”
There was a collective gasp from the humans in the room. Dr. Dunham placed his hand at the small of my back, but I took no comfort in the gesture.
“Do not even speak her name!” my father shouted. “You are nothing to her!”
Once again, my mother reached out to soothe my father with a touch. “She does not even remember you,” she said, a tear shimmering at the corner of her eye. “It has been an entire year and she is not yet eighteen months of age. As far as she is concerned, your father and I are her parents now. Not you.”
It was not the first time I had tested the question of whether or not a vampire was capable of crying, nor was it the first time I failed to answer it in the affirmative.
Without another word, I turned and fled the building.
Dr. Dunham reached me within a matter of moments.
“You should not have brought me there.” I forced the words out around the lump in my throat.
“I had to make sure they knew you were under my protection. The Mayfair Coterie and the Slayer Council have always co-existed peacefully thanks to our treaty.”
“They didn’t believe me.” I raised my nose to the wind and noted the distant smell of smoke and perfume – the aroma of nighttime revelry. “They don’t believe there is a traitor in their midst.”
“Why should they? Why would another Slayer kill Andrew Spencer?” Dr. Dunham tapped his stick along the ground as we walked. “Only Andrew himself knew to expect such a betrayal, and he shared his knowledge with no one.”
“Not even you?” I turned to look at the doctor, but he continued to stride forward.