Page 100 of Fangs with Benefits

Molly

Chapter 36

Elijah

Vampiric soirees are still the raucous affairs I remember; there’s a live human band compelled to forget what they witness here this evening, human servers for guests to feed on, and all manner of debauchery behind corners and in alcoves. When we were first turned, there was a good fifty years of just this, constant revelry in sex and blood and indulgence. I tired of it quickly.

I stand in a corner, hands in my pockets as I look out at the party. Mother has dimmed all the lights and set up dozens of candles that drip wax onto their brass holders and the floor, lighting up faces with their flickering flames. Paranormals of all ages are in attendance, mostly vampires, some hundreds of years older than us, others much younger, and my mother’s favourite coven of witches mingles while drinking fine wines. Evangeline has been occupied with a beautiful witch for much of the evening, the pair huddled on a settee speaking to each other as if the rest of the partygoers have disappeared. She introduced her to me as Samara, and I recognised the name as the collaborator Evangeline mentioned working with on dangerous research.

Mother is ever the perfect hostess, flitting from one group to the next, introducing and reintroducing me to paranormals on and off the council.

I can’t stop my mind from wandering back to Devi’s Halloween party. Her whole apartment could fit in this parlour twice over. Instead of the priceless wine and fresh blood of this party, there were the shots of multicoloured Jell-O in plastic cups and mismatched cans of beer. There was a pile of shoes by the door, homemade costumes, the scent of Molly’s shampoo wafting through the air, a chaste, giggling game of spin the bottle in a bedroom. It was infinitely more welcoming and wonderful than this.

For the last four hours, I’ve been greeted, embraced and softly interrogated about what I’ve been up to for the last century.

‘I thought you’d died!’ more than three vampires told me.

I did not tell them that, often, I wished I had.

Gregory has had a splendid time this evening; he’s a hit among paranormals–the life of the party, where I tend to my sulking in corners. I watch with dread and resignation as he points at me and leads Joelle, one of his long-time paramours, off-and-on since the late seventeen hundreds, to where I stand by a window alone. I’d hoped I would go unnoticed and undisturbed, but should have known better.

‘The man of the evening,’ Gregory says by way of conversation starter. ‘Brother, you remember Joelle.’

‘Of course. Beautiful as always,’ I tell her. I attempt a handshake or a hug, but Joelle greets me as many of the oldest vampires do, with a kiss on the mouth. Her lips taste of the human’s blood that she and Gregory were just sharing. I refrain from wiping my mouth out of respect, but with every vampire who’s greeted me like this, I’ve thought only of the person I’d prefer to be kissing.

‘Elijah here got a real human job,’ Gregory tells her. ‘He worked in an office building and everything, just like one of the sheep.’

‘How unique,’ Joelle says in heavily accented English, and I think she really means it. ‘What did you seek to learn from this experiment of yours?’

How to be human, I don’t tell her. They’d both laugh, thinking it a joke. Vampires don’t need to be human, not when they can compel humans to their whims.

‘I wanted to learn about technological advancements and their practical applications.’

‘How boring!’ Joelle’s little laugh is like a crystal-clear bell. I miss Molly’s squeaky laugh, the way it shakes her body and lights her whole face up. ‘You’ve always been peculiar. I love how you think, Elijah.’

‘He fell in love with another human,’ Gregory says out of the side of his mouth, though of course he knows I’ll hear him. Joelle doesn’t laugh like my brother hoped, her lips instead twisting into a sympathetic frown.

I can’t hear the condolences or advice on the tip of her tongue, so I pretend to wave at a vampire I’ve never met across the room. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ I say, and make my escape from them. I brush past the other vampire and head out of the parlour and down the long hall. I pass the human staff in the kitchen and slip out of the back door that leads to a snow-covered garden. The frigid fresh air is a relief, and I take a deep, shaking inhale.

The sounds of the party filter outside, but it’s otherwise preternaturally quiet here. It’s a relief, though I feel my loneliness and loss settle over me like the blanket of snow I step through.

Mother’s gardens are well kept in the summers, though we’ve never been able to enjoy their full colours and scents in the light of a bright, summer day. There’s a large greenhouse that Evangeline made her own when Mother first acquired the estate after the turn of the nineteenth century. My sister does much of her research there, hours spent in the labs she built above and below ground.

The greenhouse is an impressive structure, half of which is made of glass, the other half a laboratory. I step through the plants, refraining from touching the leaves and succulents she manages to keep alive. The lab has a few racks with plant lights, and has been equipped with far nicer, newer equipment than what was here in 1916.

The door to the basement lab is locked, but I run my fingers around the door frame, looking for the key she used to keep. I’d let myself in to bother her while she worked, pestering my sister a pastime as undying as the pair of us.

I don’t find the key there and look to my left and right for where she might stow it. I spot a cerulean pot housing stems of deep violas. Her favourite flower. I pick it up and, sure enough, the key is beneath.

‘Rookie,’ I mutter.

I unlock the door and mosey down into the dark basement, the lights automatically clicking on when I enter the lab. It’s much expanded since I was last here, with multiple long metal tables and complex machines. One of the tables is covered in tomes–grimoires, I think. Samara’s station, maybe. Evangeline’s desk is in a corner, books likewise stacked around a computer, handwritten notes everywhere.

I sink into her well-loved leather chair, as good a place as any to hide from the party. It’s quiet here, at least. Mother won’t think to look for me, though I hope she’s so distracted with her guests that she’s not thinking of me at all.

I don’t intend to snoop.

I just mean to stay here until the house is quiet enough to return to it. But when my gaze catches on a handwritten note on Jellie’s desk that reads The Reversion, underlined three times, I succumb to my curiosity.