Two Turtledoves
Two Turtledoves...
In a recent FB conversation, I floated an idea for a plot
bunny involving an antique book dealer – who's also a vampire – and the book
he’s searching for, the book that contains clues to the whereabouts of his
long-lost love.
The idea was met with so much enthusiasm that it’s on the calendar for next year. For today’s “Two Turtledoves” post, I thought it would be fun (and motivating for me!) to draft a getting-to-know-you scene, showing one possible way my vampire meets his true love.
They say turtledoves mate for
life, and so, perhaps, do vampires....
***
London, 1870
I didn’t set out to be a collector of antiquities. At least, not at first.
In the early days, I sold new books, their leather bindings embossed with crisp
gold, the scent of their ink as distracting as the scent of fresh blood.
And for a vampire, that’s very distracting indeed.
I owned my shop when I was made a vampire and I own it
still. Books, those mysterious compendiums of human thought, have been a
touchstone, giving meaning to my existence. And books – or one book in
particular – symbolize my greatest loss.
Let me tell you how that came to be...
The day was dark and cold, the sun barely penetrating the
thick layer of clouds. I opened the store at the regular time for a Tuesday,
for the Christmas holiday was two days past and there was no reason to stay
closed. You might think it odd that a vampire would hold shopkeepers’ hours,
but between my advanced age and the depths of the London winter, I was quite
safe from the sun.
I’d had few customers that day. The booksellers from nearby
Paternoster Court still observed the holiday, and my next closest neighbors, between the Spitalfields Market and Whitechapel, couldn’t likely read. On an
ordinary day, I sold a handful of worthy volumes and three times as many penny
awfuls from the rack at the front of the store.
I couldn’t expect everyone to meet my standards, now could
I?
The bell above my door jangled some thirty minutes before
closing. A young man pushed through, his dark suit fine but soiled, his hair
mussed. By the time he reached my desk, I knew two things: he was desperate, or
desperately hungry, and he was like me.
A vampire.
I noticed a third thing, but only in passing. He was
handsome, with strong features and a firm jaw. For all he was unkempt, he was clean-shaven,
as he must have been when he was turned. Curious. Who was this, and why had he
come to me?
His gaze clashed with mine, and he drew up short. I remained
seated so as not to trigger his fighting instinct. Not that he’d be any match
for me. He was too young and too hopeless to be a threat. Still, I’d learned
that not all fights were worth winning, and so I waited.
“Are you”--he twitched, as if someone had poked him with a
pin--”are you A. Christopher Monohan?”
So said the sign over my shop’s door. “I am.”
“Maggie Darden sent me. She said you could help.”
Maggie Darden ran a public house a block or so from away
from me. She kept her doors open to all, no matter how unfortunate or inhuman,
as long as they treated each other with respect. Maggie had recognized my
nature early on. This forlorn individual wasn’t the first she’d sent to me.
I gestured to the chair near my desk. “Sit and tell me what
you need help with.”
He jerked his gaze toward the door, then back to me.
“Sit.” I made it a Command, and he sat, or rather deflated,
his head in his hands.
“Can you tell me your name?” I asked. I didn’t want to
Command all of his responses. Hopefully if I kept my composure, he would regain
his.
It took several long moments before he raised his eyes.
“David,” he said, his voice gruff. “I....don’t remember more.”
“No surname?”
“I must have one, but...” he left off, shaking his head.
“What do you remember?”
His mouth worked for a moment, as if he battled with some
unseen foe. I could guess his opponent. He must be freshly turned, had likely
never fed. Some bastard had lost control and made another like us, then left
him to fend for himself. The Queen would
be most unhappy.
And I wasn’t referring to Queen Victoria.
“I’m not sure which are memories and which are dreams.” He
played with the simple gold cufflink on his left sleeve. “I was in a box in the
dirt. Buried. In a casket. It took all my strength to crawl out, but when I went
home, my wife, she...”
He stopped and cleared his throat. “I couldn’t get near her.
I had the feeling I should take the train to London, so I did.”
At least his maker had pointed him in the right direction.
“How do you feel, David?”
He made fists with his hands, the knuckles white. “I’d like
to tear one of your arms off and drink....and drink...”
He gagged.
“You can’t tear my arms off.”
He rose to standing, fists planted on my desk, expression
strangely grim. “Oh, I think I can.”
I stood and faced him, allowing my fangs to show and
dropping the human glamour I wore most of the time. Without that glamour, my was
alabaster and my blue eyes turned to flame. “You cannot.”
He gave a sharp inhale, his darker eyes going wide. Folding
into the chair, he gave me another hopeless look. “What does all this mean?”
Resuming my human posture, I returned to my seat and decided
the direct approach would be best. “Someone has made you vampire.” I gave him a
moment to digest the information, but aside from another sharp breath, he didn’t
interrupt me.
“There are few things as terrible as turning a human then
leaving him on his own, but that is what has been done to you.” And I had a
good idea by whom. I rose and came around the desk, hitching my hip up to
lean against the desktop. “I can help you, but you’re going to have to trust
me.”
“How? Why?”
“How?” I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “I
can feed you and I can teach you what you need to know to feed yourself.”
He didn’t respond, so I kept going. “We’ll need to do some
digging, to learn your surname and where you’re from.”
“And my wife?”
I spread my hands, palms down, on my desk. “You must never
see her again, or you run the risk of driving her mad.”
He nodded, covering his face with his palms. Some
combination of his beauty and despondence prompted me to make an
uncharacteristic offer. “Come.” I held
out my hand. “We’ll go to my rooms” - my private lair, the exact location known
to no one but me - “where you can feed.” Though feeding him myself would cement
my responsibility for him. His maker had made him orphan, and apparently, I was
willing to adopt him.
Slowly, tentatively, his gaze still on the desktop, he took
my hand. “That....thank you.”
I stood and drew him to his feet. “Let us go, Nameless
David. After you feed, you can rest.”
~*~
Not sure when there'll be more of this, but now that I have a handle on the two protagonists, the rest should start taking shape. Thanks for reading, and happy holidays!!
Best,
Liv
