"Mother," I say a little louder now, "what have you not been telling me?"
Why would I bother including Harlot in the conversation? From the looks of it, she seems to know much more than I do. Harlot looks agitated, then repeats my question to Mother.Oh, she is good, a natural actress.If I had not known better and picked up on her unease, I probably would have believed this act of innocence she is portraying here, shamelessly in front of me.
The joy on Mother’s face from arriving at this place gives way to an unknown sadness I have never seen on her before. Her smile disappears as if it had never been there. It is gut-wrenching to see my mother like that, from a strong, independent woman, crumbling into this tiny creature standing in front of us with one mere question. I find it distressing, I notice. From the lines of thinking on her forehead, I can tell she is looking for words to create a sentence to answer my question. They say eyes don’t lie, but I cannot find the truth in them either.
Then, instead of answering my question, she takes a long, deep breath and just says: "Let us find a place to stay first, and when we reach Valorya, we’ll talk further, okay? Let’s not… discuss private matters in the open."
Even though it is anticlimactic and definitely not what I expected, I can only nod in agreement. I am apprehensive about her decision, but I, too, am not too eager to discuss or fight out in the open, even though this town seems to hold no living souls. Mother is right; particular concerns should be discussed behind closed doors, as the undead have no business meddling with mortal issues. This seems to be one of those subjects thatrequires more time to explain, and I am not planning to make it easy for Mother. She now has my full attention and curiosity; I need her to bear it all.
I see the look of disappointment on Harlot's face. She also seems to expect a more profound response to that question. Perhaps she did not know all that. Maybe she does not have more knowledge of that statement, contrary to what I thought. But it is apparent that she knowssomething, which is still more than I know.
Impatiently, I ask my mother if she has the route to this mysterious city mapped out as well, since she clearly has extensive knowledge of how to get to this strangely beautiful town. Without waiting for her answer, I ask her where on earth we will stay since there is no inn, at least not one with an active host. I cross my arms as I look at her, intentionally ignoring Harlot.
My mother looks at me uneasily and feebly says, "Please do not freak out, children. Each house here is inhabited, but it holds no complications for us. We can stay in whichever house we would like."
"What do you mean, each house is inhabited?" I parrot her words back to her.
She laughs awkwardly, and I squint my eyes at her, not liking where this conversation is going.
"Everything you see here, smell here," she pauses a moment, then continues, "is a veil. A magical veil, so to speak, a mirage if you want; it is only visible to humans to lure our kind in. As I mentioned earlier, it fosters a sense of safety. Something we recognize as our own, but it’s not real.Allureis what it’s called. It’s a… vampire thing."
She stops, again, that uncanny laugh.
"The supernatural—vampires inhabit this town, like I said before, and some witches, if I remember correctly. I'm notexpecting any were-creatures due to that. The veil is here to bewitch us humans, drawing us to this town. Our magic is what allows us to see through it after a first glance, making us realize there’s something odd about it. Valorya will be the same, but the city is much bigger, although perhaps they don’t use allure there," she continues as if this is the most normal thing in the world to say.
We are staying in a town designed as a trap for humans, which is crowded with vampires. And witches, do not forget about the bloody witches. Afterward, we are on our way to Valorya, a large city inhabited primarily by vampires, and we are expected to stay there for a while. How are we supposed to make a living and settle there? Offer ourselves as living blood banks? I scoff at the idea of offering my wrist to a damn bloodsucker.
Harlot's face twists in a way that is new to me. It looks like anger, but with a more sorrowful tone. The words that come out of Mother's mouth are not received pleasantly on her end, either.
I am processing my mother's words in my head. Of course, we have stayed in such towns and villages before. The supernatural is nothing new to us, but settling among them and establishing a more permanent residence is new.
Times like these make me crave the ability to look into other people's minds. What is Mother thinking? A town designed to captivate humans, only to capture them? Eat them, drain them. Why does she believe this city, which apparently is not even real, is a place for us to stay? I cannot wrap my head around it. Mother gazes at us both. I can tell she is trying to gauge our reactions to the information she has just released to us.
I notice tears slowly flooding from Harlot's eyes, and I feel some welling up behind my own eyelids as well. It feels like a betrayal from Mother's side. How can we settle down and meet human partners if we live in a trap designed for humans to be used and abused, and most likely killed? Are we supposedjust to let that happen and look on from the sidelines? I hate the feeling of futility; it’s how I’ve been feeling for years now. Seeing young girls being sacrificed, killed, and often brutally tormented, to justify whatever perversion the humans harbored. Praying to the old Gods? Please. If anything, it’s an offering for the bloodsuckers crawling outside the towns to please stay the hell away.
I want to fight the men who practice these “sacrifices”, hurt them, and offer them up instead, but Mother would hold me firmly and tell me my soul is too soft for this world, how she hates to see me suffer like this. If she knew what I wanted to do to those lowlifes, she would understand I amnottoo soft. I swear to myself that the moment I become an adult, I will not let another girl undergo any form of brutality if I can prevent it. If Mother tries to stop me, then I will never forgive her.
“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” I sneer at Mother. For the first time in my life, I raise my voice at her. “I am almost eighteen. I want to meet a human female. I want to explore. I don’t want to be stuck with a bunch of fucking bloodsuckers.”
“It’s going to be fine, Fynn. Perhaps you’ll meet a lovely vampire girl?” She muses, as if all of this—us living among the undead—is a joke.
Our lives and futures are reduced to mere jests by our mother. My mouth curls in disgust.
I even see Harlot glance at her in disbelief. Does Mother honestly want us to mingle with these vile beasts? I’m uncertain if she’s teasing me to lighten the mood.
“And how do you suppose that will go down, huh? They cannot even touch us, Mother. They can’t even stand to be near us because of whatever fucking magic you imposed on us!” I see red now as I do my best to control my rage.
Mother grimaces at my harsh truth, one that it appears she has conveniently forgotten. I love my mother to death, yet her stupidity sometimes makes it hard to hold on to that feeling.
I narrow my eyes at Harlot, her long, slim throat, and her porcelain skin. I tear my gaze away from her, fighting against the sensation that coils inside me. I’m not going to kill my sister just because I’m having a fit, I tell myself sternly. I point at a house with green and white painted shutters and blooming pink gerberas on a border below the window as I feel the rage consume me.
“I’ll be staying there by myself! Leave me alone, both of you!”
I stalk off toward the house and slam the door loudly behind me, leaving Mother and Harlot bewildered on the pristine, clean, cobblestone street.
Inside the house, it’s dark, and it takes a few seconds before my eyes adjust to the shapes and furniture. The interior is modest, human-like. It smells like red roses—a soft, powdery aroma. The stench is so overpowering that it clogs my nose, making me feel queasy and leaving a sour taste in my mouth. I quickly open a window, hoping the smell will escape the house. A soft light dances into the house the moment the window opens, dust particles flying everywhere. The sun feels warm on my skin, prompting me to wonder how they could even replicate such a sensation. The window's hinges creak in protest when I open them, as if it were the first time they had been used. I inhale the peculiar fresh air from outside to replace the rose scent.
A loud cackle startles me, and I turn to the sound. My figure casts a shadow on the floor as daylight surrounds me.
