“Think what you want,” he said. “I didn’t leave you behind because it was my father’s last wish that I look after you.”
The reference to Noel was sobering. We both stared out the window for a moment.
“I never thanked you,” I said.
“Don’t thank me. Just promise me that you won’t be stupid and give up like that again.”
“I can’t promise about the stupid part, but I promise I won’t give up again.”
***
“Are you sure this friend of yours is still here?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
Even in the dark, the theater was opulent and grand, with hundreds of burgundy seats, gilded balconies, and a thick velvet curtain over the stage.
“In primary school, I played Dorothy in a production of The Wizard of Oz,” I said as we walked down the carpeted aisle. “I ran off the stage crying when the house fell on the witch. That marked the beginning and the end of my theater career.”
He hopped down into the orchestra pit in front of the stage. I followed him, maneuvering around chairs and music stands.
“Your friend lives under a theater stage? Like the Phantom of the Opera?”
“Schoolgirl?”
“Yeah?” I stopped close behind him and looked around. “What?”
“You talk too much.”
“Maybe you talk too little.”
“You’re going to live forever. Pace yourself.”
He walked into a large storage closet, and I followed. There he pulled a shelf unit filled with cardboard boxes toward him as if it was a door, then tapped his fingers against the wooden wall behind it. I felt dust settle on my skin and on my eyeballs.
“Your friend,” I said, blinking. “You’re sure that he’s not in league with the Monarchy?”
“She is an anarchist,” he said. “She hates the Monarchy. They’re at war.”
A portion of the wall pushed out like an unstuck puzzle piece. Lucas took it away and leaned it against the back of the shelf. In the opening stood a tall young woman with vivid violet, shoulder-length hair. Her rich chocolate eyes were half covered by her straight bangs. She had on white fishnet pantyhose under her black shorts, and her long legs disappeared into construction boots. The sleeves of her plaid shirt were rolled up to her elbows. She examined me, her hands on her hips, a smirk on her pretty olive-toned face, and she spoke in a husky, accent-inflected voice.
“So this is what all the fuss is about,” she said. “I am Samira.”
“I’m Axelia.”
“I assumed,” she said. She put her arms around Lucas’s neck and drew him to her.
“Hello my dear,” she said, embracing him. “It’s been a long time.”
She pulled back and cupped his face in her hands. I averted my eyes. I felt as if I was intruding on a private moment. We followed her down a flight of stairs into a vast, open room. The place looked like an antique market. Round paper lanterns hung from the low ceiling. Intricate rugs were spread across the floor. Paintings, portraits, scrolls, stuffed animal heads, and mounted weapons covered every space on the wall.
“Still collecting things, I see,” Lucas said.
“I can’t help myself,” she said.
I stopped to examine a six-foot-tall clay statue of a mustached man wearing armor.
“I picked that one up in China,” Samira told me.
Lucas walked in between the tables littered with books, vases, and sculptures and sat down on a slate blue couch. He leaned his head back, his swords in his lap, and closed his eyes. I had never seen him look worn out. For the first time he appeared almost human. Samira dropped next to him and draped her lithe arm over the couch, her hand behind his neck, her knee touching his leg. Seeing them so close I was struck with a strange pang of jealousy. I shook my head to clear the feeling.
“I heard about Noel and Jerome,” she said. “I am so sorry.”
Lucas didn’t look at her. He just stared at his swords.
“We need to get out of Italy,” he said.
“I know. I also heard about the bounty.”
“Can you help?”
“Of course.”
I loitered beside the clay statue, pretending to look at a pile of rusty parking meters.
“What is her story?” Samira asked, nodding to me.
“Well, what are they saying about her?”
“That her creation is forbidden, that any vampire that returns her to the Monarchy will be rewarded beyond their imagination.”
Did they have to talk about me as if I wasn’t here?
Samira went on: “They say that you are abetting her illegal existence.”
“Noel found her. He wanted to protect her.”
“He was always so noble. Did he die fighting?”
“Yes.”
“He wouldn’t have wanted it any other way,” she said.
I maneuvered around a desk topped with granite busts of pharaohs and golden sculptures of Roman gods. I turned and stood face to face with a creature baring a mouthful of fangs. I yelped and sprang back, bumping a table. A stone bust fell from the edge, crushing a violin on an adjacent pedestal.
Lucas sat up but Samira put her hand on his shoulder. I squinted at the creature on the shelf. It was a dinosaur skull.
“That’s my whale fossil,” Samira said nonchalantly.
“Shouldn’t this be in a museum?” I said to hide my embarrassment.
“This is my museum,” she said.
“I’m sorry about this,” I said, picking up the violin, which had snapped at the neck.
She rose from the couch. “That was a gift from Bach,” she said.
“What?” I coughed. I looked at Lucas. “She’s joking, right?”
Samira moved like a meandering shark through her piles of junk. She approached me with a relaxed expression and took the instrument from my hands, her fingers grazing mine.
“I’m sorry…” I started.
“Don’t worry,” she said, tossing the violin into a corner. “It’s just stuff. Stuff breaks. And we move on.”
I sank down onto a chair.
“Don’t sit there, hon,” she said.
I popped up as if I had sat on a pin. I turned to examine the chair; attached to the wooden beam that served as the back of the seat was what looked like a metal collar.
“That I got in Spain,” she said.
“What is it?”
“It’s a garrote. Humans used it to execute people. See the crank at the back? You turn it and it tightens this metal collar, strangling its victim.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Humans are so creative, aren’t they?”
She tilted her head and inspected me. Her eyelashes were as thick as mustaches spreading across her big eyes. She brushed a strand of hair from my face and then tapped her fingers against her lips. The beaded bracelet on her wrist matched the colors of a peacock feather.
“Aren’t you an interesting creation,” she said. She pointed her chin toward her shoulder but kept her eyes on me. “I assume that she’s going with you?” she said to Lucas.
“Yes.”
“Lucky,” she said with a smile. I didn’t know if she was referring to me or him. “Where do you want to go? I have friends that I trust in Austria but that may be too close to the fighting.”
What fighting?
“We also have an underground contingent in Johannesburg that could offer you refuge,” she said.
Lucas hesitated. “I want to try to find my obaia.”
For a second Samira appeared stunned. She parted her pink lips but no sound came out. She regained her composure and turned to face him.
“But it’s been centuries,” she said.
“I never looked for her out of respect for Noel but I need to find her now. If there is anyone who can protect us from the Monarchy, it’s her. She will hide us.”
“Do you even know where Nuwa is?”
He didn’t say anything and Samira nodded. ?
??You want me to help you find her.”
“Who is Nuwa?” I asked.
Samira walked around me and sat down on the garrote.
“She is Lucas’s sire. The one who created him.”
Chapter 21
Samira lit a few candles in her bedroom and everything in it shimmered. The hundreds of necklaces, rings, and bracelets on her shelves. The rhinestone-studded lamps on her vanity table. The beaded, colorful scarves that hung on a ladder propped against the wall. The gold and silver threads in her bedspread.
She opened a chest at the foot of her bed and took out some clothing. Turning to me she smiled.
“Here,” she said. “These should fit you better than Jerome’s clothing.”
“Thanks.”
She stood staring at me.
“Uh, Samira. I don’t mean to be rude but is there somewhere I can change?”
“Why? You don’t have anything I haven’t seen,” she said. “Or do you?”
“No, I don’t have a tail or anything like that.”
“I’ve seen that.”
“Really?”
She sighed. “How about I just turn around?”
I laid the clothing on her bed and turned my back to her to remove Jerome’s T-shirt. I wriggled into her fitted, V-neck black shirt and tugged at the hem to straighten it over my chest. It smelled like flowers. I glanced over my shoulder—she was gone—and stripped off my shorts. I jumped into the dark denim, stretchy jeans. They hung over my heels so I bent down to roll the cuffs into capris.
“What size shoe are you?” she said from out of the room.
“Six.”
Samira returned with her hands behind her back.
“My clothing looks good on you,” she said.
“Thanks.”
“Et voilà, la pièce de résistance,” she intoned. She revealed two low-top sneakers in black-and-white floral damask.
I clasped my hands and grinned. “Wow! These are great!”
“I hope they fit.”
“I’ll make them fit.”
I hesitated before removing Jerome’s runners.
“Sit,” she said. I sat on her bed and Samira knelt to untie my shoelaces.
“So how are the two of you getting along?” she asked, slipping my feet out.
“We’re not.”
She smiled. “Actually, you are.”
“How so?”
“If Lucas is speaking to you, then you’re getting along.”
“He only speaks to me to scold me.”
“That sounds about right. He can be a little harsh with his friends.”
“Well, in that case, we’re best friends.”
“He is a good friend to have. He is fiercely loyal.”
“I am grateful to him.”
“I can see why he likes you,” she said, leaning in close. “You’re young, you’re vibrant. You’re not…tainted. World-weary and jaded like the rest of us.”
“You don’t look weary.”
“Oh, I do. We all do. We look tired. Or bored. But not you. You have that freshness that I always see in humans. How I envy that. How I envy that starry-eyed look of wonderment on your face.”
“That look on my face is actually vomit-inducing terror.”
She smiled. “You should be scared. Fear is the human instinct to survive. You need it.”
“Well, I have no shortage of it.”
She double-knotted my sneakers. My toes had ample wiggle room, but otherwise the shoes fit. I stood and knocked my heels together. “There’s no place like home,” I said. “There’s no place like home.”
Samira shook her head. “Sorry, dear. This isn’t a fairy tale. There’s no happily ever after. Just…ever after.”
***
Lucas turned off the engine of his motorcycle and leaned to one side so I could step off. Samira parked her bike beside us. She was wearing fingerless gloves the color of eggplant and a short leather jacket. We surveyed the shipping yard, a field of red, yellow, and blue containers stacked like Lego blocks.
I adjusted my top, which had snuck up during the ride. My skin tingled from chugging a jug of blood before leaving the theater. I felt wild and alert. The glittering night lights, the keening wind, the traffic—it all assailed my senses. I heard everything but nothing because I could not focus. Far away, a car honked. Insects cackled. Lucas and Samira were talking about the trip, about finding the right cargo container.
“My friend will oversee the shipping…”
“…in the morning, they will truck your cargo container to the air terminal…”
That’s when I heard whispers through the din.
“It’s them,” the voice said. “We need to take them now.”
I spun around, scanning the yard. Did I imagine that? Who said that? Lucas saw my frantic search and stopped talking. He listened and then turned to face a stack of blue containers.
“Show yourself,” Samira said.
Silence. Then three vampires appeared on top of the containers. One after the other they stepped off the edge, and by the time they landed on the gravel they were armed. Two males wielded an ax and a sword, respectively; a dark-haired female had what appeared to be a machete. They sized me up and then looked at each other as if trying to determine if I was dangerous.
Lucas drew his blades and Samira took something out of her pocket, which she kept in her closed fist.
“What can we do for you?” Samira asked. Her tone was hard.
“The two vampires with you are fugitives,” the female vampire said. She enunciated every syllable so that ‘fugitives’ sounded like three words.
“That is none of your concern,” Samira replied, copying the vampire’s articulation.
“Step aside, Purple,” one of the other vampires said. “We’re collecting our bounty.”
“That is not a good idea, sugar,” Samira said. “I’m only going to give this one warning.”
This would probably be a good time to become that crazy vampire killer.
I took a step back. My heel against the gravel was like the firing of a starting gun. The vampires sprang forward. Lucas blocked the two males, striking their blades away. The female vampire lunged for me. Samira dropped to the ground and tripped her. The vampire rolled in the dust before finding her footing. They hissed at each other through their fangs.
Samira turned and ran, stretching a string of wire out between her hands. The vampire chased her toward a wall of containers, the machete swinging inches from Samira’s back.
Oh no. Dead end.
I thought she would crash but instead Samira ran up the wall and did a back flip. In mid air she put her hands on either side of her attacker’s shoulders, the taut wire against the vampire’s throat. Instead of landing on the ground behind the vampire, Samira kicked her in the back. The head came off and the body struck the wall.
As Samira jogged back toward me, she licked one of her fangs. She approached Lucas, who was still fending off the two males.
“Enough games,” she said.
One of the vampires turned and thrust his sword at her. She leaped and spun, her body twirling parallel to the ground so that the blade slid underneath her. Kicking her leg out, she wrapped it around the vampire’s head and pulled him down. She then wound her wire around his neck and did a front flip over him, tearing off his head. It went sailing into the yard and I heard it knock against a container in the distance. At the same time, with one quick slice, Lucas felled his opponent.
He kicked the head away as he walked to me. I straightened up because I had been cowering against a container.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” I said, trying to sound composed.
Samira’s wire retracted like a tape measure into a silver cylinder in her hand.
“What a waste of life,” she said, looking at the bodies.
“You did warn them,” Lucas said.
“I did,” she said with a sigh.
“I thought you
were amazing,” I told her.
“You liked my tricks?” she asked, smoothing her hair and tucking it behind her ear. “Well, you should see me when I’m actually challenged. Lucas, remember that time we fought those vampires in that palace in India? There were maybe twenty of them, and I lost my wire so I had to use Lucas’s belt as a weapon. And then he couldn’t keep his pants up.”
Samira chuckled and Lucas allowed himself a fleeting smile. I found myself wishing that I had better memories with Lucas rather than the horrible ones we had shared.
“Let’s get going,” Lucas said.
I tiptoed over splotches of blood as we walked away from the scene.
“Remember, my friend Kinman will meet you upon arrival and set you up,” she said. “Please give him my regards.”
“Where are we going?” I asked.
Samira shot a look at Lucas. “You haven’t told her?”
“What difference would it make?”
“According to my informants, Nuwa was exiled to an island more than five hundred years ago,” she said. “You know it as Taiwan. We’re going to fly you there in a cargo container.”
I’d never been to Asia before.
“It’ll take more than twelve hours to get there so try not to kill each other.”
Chapter 22
I sat cross-legged on the floor of the cold box, testing my ability to block out the roar of the plane’s engine. I was getting good at it. In my mind it sounded like I was turning the volume up and down. I faded other sounds in, like the whoosh I heard when Lucas struck the air as he repeated a pattern of martial arts movements. Or the drone of a fly trapped in the box with us. Concentrating too much on the insect reminded me of being at a soccer game, surrounded by vuvuzelas. Man, those things are annoying.
“Samira is really great for helping us,” I said.
Lucas had lit the container with a flashlight pointed at the ceiling. He paused in a squatting position, his hands pressed together as if in prayer.
“Why didn’t she come with us?” I asked.
“It’s safer if she stays in Rome.”
“But what if the arrabbiata track her down?”
“What?”
“The…sorry, arrabbiata is a pasta sauce. I mean the army guys.”
“Samira can take care of herself.”
Unlike me, he means. I wished that I could be tougher.
“So, how long have you been friends?”
“A long time.”
“Have you guys ever been together?”