Companion Pieces: Stories from the Old World and Beyond Read online

  Hey, at least I didn’t eat him.

  Dashiell and his wife Beatrice live in an absolutely breathtaking Spanish Colonial mansion in Pasadena, located in the kind of old-money neighborhood where someone from Home and Garden is always ringing doorbells and begging to do a cover spread. The house doesn’t have a driveway so much as a miniature parking lot – although you don’t see many parking lots done in tiny Spanish tiles with a koi fountain in the middle. I parked by the fish and went to the front door, reaching for the bell. I loved this house, particularly the open-air atrium in the middle of the building, but it was way out of even my league. I’m financially very comfortable, even in an expensive, label-obsessed city like LA, but you have to be stupid rich to live around here.

  The door popped open before my hand got very close, which didn’t surprise me. Vampire hearing and all. Dashiell’s wife, Beatrice, swung the carved-oak door open with no effort at all, her lips curving up to display teeth that were still stained a faint pink from recent feeding.

  “Hello, Molly,” Beatrice said coolly. Dashiell’s wife and I have never really warmed to each other, mostly because Dashiell had to allow me on his territory under a bit of duress. And also because of every vampire I’d ever met, Beatrice was the most…emotional. I despised human emotion in vampires and saw no point in hiding it. “He’s on the patio,” she told me.

  I nodded in reply and strolled through the exquisitely decorated entryway, trying not to get sidetracked. I could stare at the antiques in this house for days, if given the proper opportunity. One thing Beatrice and I do have in common is a love of beautiful things. Instead, though, I managed to go directly to the main sitting room, where a sliding glass door led outside.

  And there was the man himself. Vampires tend to gravitate toward an appearance “type” that they can most easily hide behind, and Dashiell looks like a stockbroker right out of Central Casting, with dark brown hair, bland good looks, and expensive suits. Tonight he was sitting in his usual spot at the end of the enormous oval table that takes up most of the atrium, surrounded by stacks of paperwork that were separated into piles and held down with decorative rocks. The rocks had clearly been picked up from the nearby landscaping, but they were doing the trick. Dashiell studied the papers at his right elbow and typed something into a sleek laptop in front of him, ignoring the slight breeze that occasionally ruffled the corners of his stacks.

  “Sit down, Molly,” he said in a normal speaking voice, which I could hear easily from this distance. “Just give me a moment.” His tone was very formal, and he hadn’t even looked up. Oh, bollocks, what had I done now?

  I didn’t want to sit at the far end of the oval table – although we’d be able to hear each other just fine, I wasn’t comfortable with the “called onto the carpet” dynamic that positioning implied. Instead, I went and sat at a chair a few feet away from his right elbow, close enough to be a casual conversation but far enough that it didn’t look like I was trying to read his documents. Not that he’d be working on anything really juicy in front of me, of course. Vampires have trust issues.

  The minutes ticked by while Dashiell continued his reading and typing, and I began to worry in earnest. If I were a human I would have fidgeted, but vampires feel no compulsion to fidget. Instead I thought through my activities for the last week or so, trying to recall what I might have done to piss Dashiell off. Nothing came to mind. I’d been on my best behavior for months now. I needed to stay in Dashiell’s good graces: if he decided to exile me from his territory I would be well and truly fucked. No other dominus was going to accept my troth - my oath of loyalty - if I couldn’t even hack it in Los Angeles. But I just couldn’t think of any recent transgressions against the few rules Dashiell had. And I certainly hadn’t killed any more vampires.

  Finally, Dashiell closed the laptop and looked at me, his eyes running over every part of me. It wasn’t sexual at all, but rather the look of a surveyor making an assessment of his property. I had hated that look when my first dominus Alonzo used to do it, but after a century I’d finally been desensitized enough not to mind. “How are you, Molly?” Dashiell asked. “How are things with the house?”

  I felt a rainbow burst of relief. It couldn’t be that bad, if he was making small talk first. “The remodel went fine. It took a couple days longer than they first thought, but I moved back in a week ago. “

  He nodded. “Any questions about the specifications?”

  “Not at all. I told the contractor I suffer from migraines, and needed the room to be completely dark, even through minor earthquakes. Didn’t even have to press him. Well,” I added with an evil little smile, “not about that, anyway.”

  Finding a secure daytime hiding place is no easy task, especially in a city where basements are rare. My small North Hollywood house came with a tiny root cellar, but I’d grown sick of spending my daylight hours down there, and had hired a contractor to make a few changes to my bedroom to make it totally sun-proof. I’d even had him remodel the upstairs bathroom at the same time, to make it a little less suspicious. The whole thing had gone pretty well, after I’d “convinced” the guy to treat me respectfully, work as hard and quickly as possible, and accept a reasonable fee. “He had some initial reservations about working for a teenager, but he came around,” I summarized.

  “Good, good,” Dashiell said absently, turning his body to face me. I admired the easy gesture. Human body language doesn’t come naturally to us; we have to learn it, which gets a little harder with every year that passes since we were actual humans. “Molly, I have a proposal for you.”

  I blinked. Vampires still have to blink. “Oh?” I said carefully. I’ve gotten orders, and I’ve gotten polite requests that were actually orders. I don’t know that any dominus had ever presented a proposal, especially to the black sheep of their territory.

  “Have you ever heard of a null?”

  He placed a special emphasis on the word, and a little flag went up in my foggy long-term memory. “I’ve heard the term somewhere,” I said slowly, trying to remember. “In the 1920’s, I believe. But I can’t recall the context.”

  “They’ve very rare,” he explained. “A null is a person who exists within and without the Old World. He or she is human in every way but one: they negate magic within a certain area around themselves.”

  “Negate?” I repeated, not understanding. “What does that mean, to negate magic?”

  “Just as it sounds,” he said patiently. “When someone infused with magic gets near this person, we become as we were, for as long as we remain physically close.”

  “We become human again?” I said distastefully.

  “For a short time, yes.”

  That sounded terrible. As a human, you’d have to waste time with all those horrible physical things: eating and drinking and using the bathroom – not to mention dragging around human emotions. I thought of the brief flare of longing I’d had at the bar when I was following the sad girl. Gross. What self-respecting vampire would want to be saddled with human feelings again?

  Dashiell was watching my face for a reaction, but I knew better than to show one. “Why would anyone want that?” I asked.

  “Molly,” Dashiell said softly. “If you spent time around a null, you could age.”

  Oh. Oh. The penny dropped, and my body went absolutely still. “Really?” I whispered.

  “Really.”

  My God. I could actually get older. That was…that was the most exciting thing I’d heard in a hundred years. Spending eternity as a teenager did not work out as nicely as those fucking Twilight books implied. All the logistics of posing as a human were an enormous nuisance for me. My business manager had gone through hell to get me my house, and I was regularly accosted by muggers and cops for running around the city at all hours of the night. And you should see what I had to pay for car insurance in this godforsaken town.

  If I could age, though…A dozen questions fought for dominance in my mind. How was this possible? Why hadn’t I heard of it before? How many nulls were there? How close did you have to be for it to work?

  Finally, I settled on, “And you know such a person?”

  “Yes,” Dashiell said simply. “Her name is Scarlett Bernard, and she’s an employee who’s been through some recent troubles. And it just so happens,” he continued, “that she needs a place to live.”

  III.

  Twenty hours later, I was pacing back and forth in my living room, listening for the doorbell. Scarlett would be here in a few minutes to meet me and decide if we would be able to work out a roommate arrangement. I’d already cleaned and vacuumed the living room, fluffed all the throw pillows, lit a scented candle – everything you’re supposed to do when company comes, at least according to the TV shows I’ve seen. But I was experiencing several feelings at once, which was as unfamiliar to me as wearing a diaper is to a human adult. I was hopeful, and excited, and actually nervous, which was surreal in itself.

  The undead do not get nervous.

  “Just meet her,” Dashiell had said. “See if you two get along.” He’d said it so casually, like he was a real estate broker or my own personal Craigslist, but if this actually worked out and I got to age, it would change everything for me. I could actually enjoy being a vampire, for once.

  Of course, a deal like that didn’t come without strings. Dashiell had made a point to warn me that I would have to be very careful around this person. “Don’t tell her too much,” he’d cautioned. “There’s no reason for her to know about our structure, our lives. And if I have a question about her or her activities, I expect you to answer. Do not forget that you have pledged troth to me.”

  “I won’t, sir,” I’d told him. The formal address wasn’t required, but it came out of my mouth anyway. Vampires have almost no access to magic, outside of the permanent changes to our physiology, but pledges of troth are the one exception to that rule. Once made, they are binding. Since I’d had to pledge troth to Dashiell in order to move here, I now literally had to do whatever he wanted.

  I looked around the living room for the thirtieth time, trying to gauge its allure as a potential habitat. Had I over-cleaned? Was it too neat now? No, I was being ridiculous. Dashiell had said I wouldn’t be able to press her mind, which was an insane concept to someone who’s been getting her way with humans for over a century. How was I going to convince this Scarlett to live here? By pretending to be human? I could probably do that; I’d certainly had enough practice. But how does a modern, desirable human roommate behave?

  I had no idea. I didn’t spend any non-hunting time around humans - hell, I barely spent any time around other vampires. Except for those of us who have found a mate, vampires are solitary hunters, not a book club.

  An idea struck me: I could be just like one of the characters on television. What was the show with the young people who all live together and stay the best of friends? Oh, there were probably several shows like that on right now. I just had to act like those characters. I began concocting a new Fun Roommate personality. I would be cheerful, and charming, and funny. I would not demand, but request. Oh, and I should probably fidget when she was here, I decided: tossing my hair, examining my fingernails, jiggling my feet when my legs were crossed. Humans love that shit.

  The doorbell rang, and I realized that I had been standing in the middle of my living room, frozen in thought, for nearly five minutes. Jesus, I needed to learn to focus my thoughts better, or this girl would think I was a complete looney. Be the Fun Roommate, I told myself.

  I zoomed toward the front door, reminding myself to fidget, to be friendly, to act like a TV girlfriend–

  I never reached the door. When I was two steps away something crashed into me like an invisible wrecking ball, and I fell to my knees, suddenly ill. No, that couldn’t be right, vampires don’t get sick. And yet, my whole body felt strangely heavy, and everything had dimmed a little, the colors and sounds fading around me. There was a twinge of pain in my right ankle, the one I’d broken when I was a little girl, slipping on a patch of ice. At the same time I felt naked and vulnerable, like the slightest push would slam me to the ground. I was exhausted – no, no, vampires don’t get exhausted either. None of this was right. It…it had sapped me, drained me of my magic. I let out an involuntary sob, my breath coming hard and frenzied. And necessary. It shouldn’t be so necessary. I began to gasp, unable to get enough air in my lungs. Was this the null? It was horrible, like a curse.

  I hadn’t understood, I realized in a panic. Dashiell had tried to explain that I would be human around this girl and I just thought he meant– what? That I would need to shove human food in my mouth? I felt so stupid.

  There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” I managed to say, my voice sounding weak and muted in my ears. The front door swung open slowly, hesitantly, and then quicker as the girl saw me.

  “Oh crap!” she cried, rushing over to kneel in front of me. “Are you okay? Sorry, it hits people kind of hard sometimes…” I shook my head, still breathing rapidly, and she seemed to understand I was having trouble answering. “I could back away, but then you’d just have to go through this again,” she told me. “You’re hyperventilating, you need to calm your breath. Remember, your body knows what to do. It’s not going to stop breathing, I promise.” Her voice was low and soothing, and I found myself focusing on her.

  She was so young, maybe twenty or a few years more, barely older than I’d been when I was taken away to be turned. I noticed her eyes right away: even without vampire eyesight I could tell that they were exquisite, an emerald green you rarely see outside of tinted contact lenses. Her hair was long and tousled, so dark that I thought it was black until she shifted her weight and the light caught the chocolate brown highlights. She was wearing jeans and cheap shoes and a canvas jacket with lots of pockets. She was pretty, too: not enough to get any attention in this town, but enough to have been taken for a new vampire, back when the domini were actively recruiting in the U.K.

  But she was too thin, leaning toward scrawny, and there were hollows beneath her eyes that indicated lost sleep and missed meals. And depth. Something was haunting this girl. “She’s been through some recent troubles,” Dashiell had said. Why hadn’t I asked for more details? What was bothering her?

  Wait, why would I care?

  “See?” the girl said encouragingly. “Your body’s breathing for you. You’re going to be fine.” She sat back on her heels, holding out her hand. “I’m Scarlett, by the way.”

  “Molly,” I managed to say. She was right; while I’d been looking her over I’d forgotten to worry about my lungs working. Already my body had relaxed, remembering what it needed to do to keep itself alive.

  I held out my hand and allowed her to shake it it. Her skin was warm and dry. “Do you think you can make it to the couch, Molly? Maybe we could sit and talk for a minute?”

  “Oh…right,” I said, feeling stupid. I was sitting on my living room carpet with a complete stranger.

  We rose at the same time, and Scarlett shut the door behind her. Be friendly, I reminded myself as we sat down. Like on TV. Suddenly I felt like most of my vocabulary had been stolen away, leaving me with only a few words to try to make coherent sentences. Small talk. I had to make small talk. “Nice jacket.” I managed to blurt.

  She looked down at herself. Why do we always do that? “Oh, thanks. It’s new.”

  “Was traffic bad? Did you find the place okay?” I was on a roll now.

  She blinked for a second, processing that. “Traffic wasn’t too bad, actually,” she replied. “I looked up directions before I left, so no problems. Have you lived here long?”

  Like a dance, I realized. We were doing a verbal get-to-know-each-other dance, and I just had to remember the steps. I knew how to have a conversation, obviously – it wasn’t that different from chatting up my human meals. But now I had to try to communicate through all these bloody feelings. They were coursing through my brain so fast it was hard to stop and remember the names for all of them. Anxiety. Nervousness. Grief. Sadness. Sadness? Wait, why was I sad? Where did that feeling even come from? Nothing sad was happening right now. Could…did feelings get left over in your mind, from something that wasn’t even going on right now? That was absurd, and I felt indignation.

  “I bought the house a few years ago,” I said carefully. “I like the location. It has a great old Hollywood history too.”

  “Oh, were you around back then?” Scarlett asked, well-mannered interest in her voice. Whatever her problems, the girl had obviously been raised well. “I mean, were you in LA during the fifties and sixties, all that Golden Era stuff?”

  “No, I was in London then,” I said, and memories flooded into my brain. I tried to push them away, focusing on the girl in front of me again.

  “Oh, I’ve always wanted to visit London. When did you come to the US?” Scarlett said politely.

  “I…It was…” I faltered. This time I couldn’t stop the memories. The decision to return to Wales in the mid-nineties, to finally check on my family after nine decades bouncing around Europe. For ninety years I’d taken comfort in imagining my brothers and sisters growing up, having babies and grand babies, laughing and fighting and marrying and occasionally lighting a candle for poor great aunt Molly who had been taken so young.

  That had been the deal, anyway. After he’d taken me Alonzo had promised me that he’d let my family be; that he’d press them to think I’d had an accident and drowned, my body never found. In exchange I had to serve out my training period with him, as his…plaything. For twenty years.

  Then I’d finally gone home, figuring it had been long enough; that no one would recognize me. I remembered the excitement and homesickness and longing I had felt as I left London for my home. And then the horrible realization that none of it had happened. Where I thought there were generations of Argalls, a growing, prospering family, there had been nothing, all that time, because Alonzo had ripped out their throats the night he took me. My brothers and sisters, my parents. As I sat on my nice couch in my nice house in North Hollywood, the grief crashed down on me again, and I remembered the realization that I was all that was left, and I was a bloodsucking parasite with about four people in the entire world who knew my first name.