Chapter 1: A Thousand Ravenous Little Mouths
In which Vampire John keeps his little bird from flying away, locked high up in her cage.
“If you’re not committing sin, you’re not having fun.”
He said that to you all the time, your captor. He said his name was John, that he had been a sergeant in the Great War, but you secretly called him Black Heart. Always in a long black duster and the broad-brimmed hat that concealed his face in shadow. The only thing that was ever clear were his eyes, ocean blue. You’d seen the ocean once when your parents tried to bargain their way onto one of the last ships leaving the New York Harbor. You never forgot the color as the sun hit it; weak rays fighting through the billowing black clouds. The ship sailed without you and your mother, who held you and screamed at your father to come back as he stood on the deck before he turned away in shame.
It was not fast enough. One of the massive fireballs tearing through the city hit the ship dead on, and it exploded with a searing blue-white flash that temporarily blinded you, rubbing your eyes desperately as you felt your mother’s hand torn from yours.
“Mama!” You spun, being knocked one way and then spun the other through the choking clouds of pitch, screaming as you heard her wail your name. “MAMA!” A hand pushed against your forehead and dazed; you watched the ground racing up to meet you.
You’ve lived in the Birdcage for a long time.
John will not tell you how long, but you can tell time has passed by the longer dresses he brings you when yours become indecently short, along with more books with pictures and stories of faraway places. You can tell because even though your captor is terrifyingly tall - and hovers over you like a vulture waiting for his meal - your head reaches to his chin now, instead of his chest. You can tell because the boiling black clouds that churn and writhe in the sky have become thinner. Sometimes, light spears the darkness and you see … things.
Shapes that move like smoke. When you stood at the window, they became agitated, shooting back and in front of the massive iron gate, painted liberally with sigils and runes in blood. They can’t get in. At least Black Heart told you that but when they started howling, a scream that sounded like flesh torn from bone, you heard the stairs shake under his boots and the door to your Birdcage slammed open.
“Get away from the windows, Little Bird!”
“I- I’m sorry!” you protested, backing away from him and the window, “I just looked out for a minute! I’m sorr-”
His huge hand was over your mouth in a moment, silencing you. He smelled of old blood and fresh rage and his eyes turned crimson.
“How many times have I told you to keep away from the windows when I am not here?”
You hated crying, but your lower lip trembled anyway. “I don’t … many times?”
His fingers rasped along the skin of your neck, your shoulders, gripping your upper arms like manacles. Lifting you abruptly, your feet dangling and face to face, Black Heart gave you a brisk shake that felt like your head just separated from your body.
“What should I do with such a bad, bad little girl?” he mused, that terrible, silky tone making you shake. Nothing good ever happened when his voice deepened like that, when his fangs came out, shining and sharp.
“I’m very sorry,” you whispered, “please, John, please accept my apology.”
The monster dangling you a foot off the floor pretended to look despondent. “But how can I do that when I know it isn’t sincere? Surely…” he was moving now, heavy booted feet rattling the unsteady stack of books next to your bed, “surely, a good girl would have learned her lesson? Agoodgirl,” he emphasized, “would listen and obey. She wouldn’t upset the shadows. She would leave them to rest.”
Black Heart kicked open the door under the eaves by your bed, an oddly shaped one cut to fit over a narrow closet. Narrow and maybe six feet long. Like a coffin.
“No- nonononono John please I’ll be good please don’t leave me in-”
This time you did scream when he thrust his face close to yours, his yellow eyes glowing in the dark.
“Trust me darling, it could be worse.”
The door slammed shut, leaving a thin line of light in the cracks around the wood and you slid down the wall, weeping.
It took less than an hour to hear it. Black Heart always made sure the screaming and the begging were very loud so you would hear the entire, nauseating execution. It sounded like an older man.
“No, please, please Master! I beg you I have served you faithfully I beg-” The scuffling grew louder, more desperate but a human was no match for the Night Brethren. Then a high, agonized scream. Only one, because the next would be a gurgle of blood as his throat was torn out, then the sounds of a thousand ravenous little mouths, devouring the poor soul from head to feet. There would be nothing left the next day but shards of bone.
The Theatre of Blood, he’d called it before, laughing as you pressed your face into the corner of the room, trying to block him out, pretending you were somewhere else.
“Twelve steps to the fireplace,” you whispered, huddled in the dark. “Nine to the washroom. Another eight to the bed.” When Black Heart locked you in the coffin-shaped closet, you would comfort yourself by pretending you were moving around your Birdcage instead. It was in the attic of his mansion. The room was quite small, but there was a comfortable feather bed made with white linen sheets and soft cashmere blankets. The white-painted wooden floor had a pale, braided rug to keep away the chill, and a little table and two chairs where you took your meals.
There was a white-washed bookcase, but you had filled it to bursting long ago with the books he’d brought you as a child. Stacks of books lined the walls in neat piles. History in one, mythology, and religion made a double pile in the corner. Science and mathematics lined the wall under the windows.
Under your bed, there were romance books and stories of heroes and brave deeds. But nothing frightening. The world of the Night Brethren was a never-ending horror story.
“Three steps from the window to the bed.…” You wondered why Black Heart created this pale, pretty Birdcage for you when everything outside was soot and ash.
