“Ah.” Theo tuts and his face falls. “It seems I’ve lost track of time again.” His body is still not quite corporealized, but he’s able to shift himself closer to the floor where he decides to sit. “Good thing I have you to experience this never-ending existence with.”
I chuckle, but not as whole-heartedly as I used to. Aging slowly has a price. I’ve seen far too many people die, yet I feel as if I’ve experienced very little. My extended lifespan has been wasted on vying for blood and throwing money at whatever will soothe my conscience. I realize now how it must have felt for Joanna to see me flaunting my wealth without proper explanation. I thought showing her the empty theater would be fun, something new, but I went about it all wrong. I should have told her up front about what I do and why, regardless of our no-strings pact.
Theodore is the only one who knows the details of my darkest time, because he was there. In my first decade as a vampire, when things became especially hard to handle, I would visit this home for comfort, because it was where I lived with my mother and father before they died.
Before Shadow Hills became the haven for paranormals that it is today, this area was nothing but trees for miles. After I turned, I kept to the city. In hindsight that was probably not the best thing to do given the proximity of people, but at the time, I wanted quick and easy access to victims. Back then, I killed whoever I wanted, and I thought nothing of it, except for when I was in bed alone at night. I relived each murder over and over until they gave me nightmares. That’s when I started comingback to the house in the woods. I missed my old life and wanted it back desperately. Theo moved freely back then, and he’d come back to the house he loved in search of guidance, just like me. It was he who helped me see the error of my ways.
Theo’s body finally appears in full, and I watch as he stretches out his legs and crosses them at the ankles while leaning against the wall behind him. “What is it you need to talk about this time, old friend?”
I hate to admit it, but I do tend to show up when I have a problem. He’s the best listener I know, and the only person who knows my entire life story. It’s hard to confide in a stranger about your problems, especially when they don’t know all you’ve gone through to get to where you are now.
“I actually wanted to look at a few books in your library,” I tell him. “It’s a vampire thing.”
Theo’s house holds a small library stuffed with books on paranormals. His father was one of the first warlocks who recorded their life and history, which started a chain of record keeping passed down through the ages. It’s because of him and his research on other paranormal beings that we know so much today. His records were donated to the Library of Congress, but they remain inaccessible to the public.
Luckily, I still have access to the originals.
“What is it you don’t already know about yourself?” Theo asks, knowing I spent a long time studying everything I could about vampires after my turn.
“It’s more like I need to brush up on some knowledge about a particular subject.” I pause. “Vampire mating bonds.”
Theo’s ghostly features light up. His smile has always been the same, reaching to the corners of his eyes even when he’s barely grinning. It gives him the constant appearance of being amused, but I know he’s truly delighted to hear that I’m researching such a subject. It means?—
“Does that mean you’ve found your mate then?” he asks, finishing my own thought.
I’m not ready to answer that question just yet. I’m not sure what’s happening between me and Joanna, but before things become more serious than we agreed, I need to know what I’m dealing with.
“Let’s just say there’s been a new development,” I say vaguely.
Theo’s body literally glitches as he smirks. “Alright. I’ll take that as a yes.” He gestures widely to the stairs leading up to the second floor. “Have your fun.”
There’s an elephant in the room that’s been left unaddressed, but I know better than to bring it up. The fact that Theo’s been in stasis since the last time I saw him means he’s yet to go outside. The refusal to change anything in the house was one thing, but he’s managed to confine himself in it. Ghosts are only tied to locations if there’s a lingering emotional attachment they’re unwilling to sever. Mayor Musthaven let go of his earthy connections many, many moons away—it’s why he’s able to roam freely throughout the town. I wish the same for Theo—I wish him peace—but as I’m still in the land of the living, I’m not sure how to give it to him.
I nod with thanks for his hospitality and make my way up the winding staircase. The banister is layered with dust that flutters down in clumps as my hand glides across it.
The library is located in the largest turret of the second floor. Though it looks larger from the outside, the space is small. Every wall that hasn’t been taken over by large bay windows has been retrofitted into shelving for books. All the texts are thick and peeling from age, most bound with leather. I pluck one from its row and carefully slide it from the shelf. Inside, the pages are thick and handmade. Everything on them is handwritten with care.
The title reads:A Vampire’s Life Cycle by Clara Davies.
Unlike the magic wielders, the first vampire to record their history was female. We know her as Clara, The First. She lived in the early 1800s, which is as far back as paranormal history permits. Before then, we know very little as to where our kind came from or how we lived.
I flip through the rough-textured pages. Most of the book is structured like a diary, recounting Clara’s daily life and routine. She lists every one of her kills along with details of where the killing happened and a description of the person. It’s callous, yet I fear it was her way of remaining sane in such a troubling time. Being a vampire back then, with no information to guide you, must have been terrifying. I’m both sad for her and grateful for her sacrifices.
Towards the back of the book are several lists explaining step by step the process of turning, feeding, and signs of low blood supply. Nothing is mentioned about bonds or donors, but those ideas had most likely not been discovered yet.
I replace the book on the shelf and search for later editions, anything closer to the turn of the twentieth century. At the end of one shelf is a stack of small journals lying horizontally atop one another. They are all the same rust color with no titles written on the front. I take the one on top and flip to the first page.
This journal belongs to: Evelyn Jean Miller.
It’s just like Clara's journal with diary-like entries, but these are short and concise, merely a few sentences for each day.
Today my husband struggled again to find a proper victim for blood. I fear choosing only those who deserve to die will cost him. It has been three weeks. I am considering offering myself to him, but I must admit, I am too afraid to die.
I flip past several weeks of entries.
Somehow, I have survived the multiple feedings. I thought for sure my previous entry would be my last, but it seems my blood is unique and replenishes faster than most. I am not sure what makes me special. He tells me it is unlike any blood he has tasted before. He believes mine is sweeter. I do not know what to make of this, other than I am happy to help my husband through his cravings.
Most days read the same: the couple has managed the husband’s feedings by balancing between fewer victims and his wife’s donations. There’s no mention of the word ‘donor’ or ‘mate’, but toward the end of the first journal, there is something worth noting.
