Page 33 of Mongrel
Human laws have never made sense to me, but then again, neither have werewolf laws. I’d be lying if I said I had high hopes for vampire laws.
“Catherine cried as we parted and stuffed my pockets with her own jewels so I could start fresh in a new city. I can’t say I did much of merit during my time in Debrecen before the wedding, but neither did I squander her gift. With a rented room and a job as an errand boy for several street vendors, I was all right. I was even beginning to make friends. Little did I know I’d caught the attention of a vampiress.”
Something in the way he says this sends chills up my spine. Though I already know the inevitable conclusion to this tale—Bowie becomes a vampire—my muscles tense, and my chest tightens.
“Bettina was in town with another of her offspring, the two of them visiting Ivaz. Perhaps she stayed in this very room.” His hands fling droplets of water around as he gestures at large to our temporary bedchamber. “Little gets past Ivaz. He heard rumors of a banished noble playing servant to the townsfolk. When you live for centuries, you must take your entertainment where you can find it, I suppose.”
I’m hesitant to interrupt, but he pauses in a way that suggests he’s struggling for words, a rare thing for Bowie. “Did you make it to the wedding?”
He shifts in the tub, bringing his knees to his chest and leaning over them. “I did. I shouldn’t have, but I did.”
Waiting through the silence for him to continue, I resist the urge to go to him. To place my hands on his back and assure him it will be all right, as he’s done for me. But we are different people, and somehow, I think my coddling would make this even harder for him.
“Bettina took me one night. Scooped me into her arms as if I weighed nothing and carried me off the dirty streets, through the city, and out into the open farmland under the stars. I was dazed, shaking with fear, afraid for my life. Who was this terrifying woman? This monster with daggers for teeth and jewels for eyes?
“‘Beauregard of Varad,’ she said, looking me over from head to toe. I must have been a sight, trembling before her, frightened out of my wits. ‘You should be heir to vast tracts of land, to the wealth of generations, and your sons heirs when you are gone. But instead, here you are flinging horse manure from the path so customers can more comfortably patron the merchant shops. All without complaint. No protest, no courts, no lawyers. Why do you not seek your birthright?’
“I couldn’t answer. My panic was too great. We’d practically flown there, and my mind hadn’t recovered from having experienced the impossible. Thoughts of my father and the estate seemed trivial in comparison.” He pauses, drawing in a slow breath.
“I shall edit the story here, my dear, for it matters not our conversation when the end result is that I was made vampire before the dawn. I didn’t consent, but neither did I protest when she presented her ultimatum. What was done is done.”
I hope I don’t meet this Bettina woman. Already I hate her for scaring Bowie and for her part in his sorrow.
“Here we come to my confession.” Bowie lifts his head from his knees, straightens his back, and twists to face me. “I’d promised Catherine I’d attend her wedding, and I wasn’t about to go back on my word. I wouldn’t let my sister down. Such familial connections are against vampire law—for good reason I’d come to find out—but Bettina isn’t restrained by such petty things as rules. She liked it when I stood up to her, when I demanded to go and wouldn’t be denied. She granted her permission and even escorted me herself. Imagine my father’s surprise when I showed up, appallingly late, and with a beautiful woman on my arm no less.
“We’d missed the ceremony, of course. It happened before sundown, but I’d warned Catherine in a letter that would be the case and begged her forgiveness in advance. We made it in time for the celebration feast afterward to see the happy couple all smiles and blushes. Bettina warned me not to get close. I should have listened. But when Catherine drew me aside, led me from her own party to the courtyard where we could speak in relative privacy, I was powerless to resist.
“I hadn’t fed that night, being in such a rush, knowing I would be late regardless. A mistake I’ve regretted ever since. Catherine only wanted to know if I was all right, if I was happy in Debrecen. She brought a purse full of coin for me and a bag of my favorite candies as a treat. But when she embraced me, I caught the scent of the blood beneath her skin.”
I hold my breath, afraid of what might come next.
“My wicked appetite roared to life. I pushed Catherine away, but it was too late. The monster was set free. One of Catherine’s maidens, a childhood friend called Isobel” —at this he can no longer keep eye contact; his gaze shifts to the ground—“had accompanied us. I bumped into her in my rush to flee. She fell, and within the span of a heartbeat, I was on her. I couldn’t stop myself.”
Bowie holds the edge of the tub, fingers clenched. “Catherine cried out, grabbed fistfuls of my hair, and tried to pry me off her, but this infernal vampire strength withstood her desperate wrenching effortlessly. It was Bettina who tore me off Isobel.”
I wince.
Bowie pauses.
The longer I wait to hear of Isobel’s fate, the more the agony of this story dawns on me. I know Bowie killed the maiden without him having to say it. It’s written in his posture, his caved chest, sagging shoulders, and bent neck. It’s in his past reluctance to answer questions, his festering self-doubt, and certainly it’s in this mission to rescue innocent young girls.
My heart aches for him. My palms itch to take him in hand and offer the same sort of comfort he always gives me. But he would reject the touch now. He wants to suffer. He hasn’t finished the story, though he’s visibly steeling himself to say the words.
“I’d nearly torn her throat out,” Bowie admits with a guttural sob. “What little blood I hadn’t consumed haloed around her head on the stones. Jakob appeared from nowhere and pulled Catherine away from Isobel, and more importantly, away from me. Bettina later told me he’d witnessed the attack, having come to collect his bride. I’ll never forget the horror in their eyes, Isobel’s blood on Catherine’s wedding gown.”
Bowie lifts his head and meets my gaze. His eyes are rimmed in pink. A reddish tear leaves a trail down his cheek.
I lean forward and press weight on my hands to shuffle out of bed, but he stops me with a raised hand and a vigorous shake of his head. I muster all the restraint I have left not to go to him.
He continues, “I don’t know what happened after that beyond what Bettina has told me since. My anguish was all-encompassing. I ran from Varad with every intention of killing myself. Bettina handled all the havoc I’d left behind. She used her preternatural influence to manipulate Catherine and Jakob into silence, kept the other guests unaware, removed the evidence, and…disposed of the body. Of Isobel. I’d no comprehension of the power she could wield to keep me out of trouble, but I faced no legal consequences. I still haven’t. I murdered that girl and got away totally free.”
Bowie holds his head in his hands. Both cheeks have twin red trails from his tears. I simply can’t let him relive this alone any longer. I leave the bed and drop to my knees in front of the tub. There are no words to make this right, certainly none that I know, but I won’t abandon Bowie for a past mistake, even one as terrible as this.
He won’t meet my gaze, but he lets me wipe the tears away with my thumbs. He doesn’t shy away when I push his hair behind his ears and stroke the dampened length. When he speaks, his voice is low and broken.
“I couldn’t kill myself. I tried, but I wasn’t strong enough. And Bettina refused to help. Once I tried to simply meet the sun and let nature take its course, but my body refused. It dug itself, against my will, into the earth at the last second like a separate thing. Like my mind had no control. Eventually, I gave up trying. I accepted that my punishment was to live with what I’d done.”
My eyes water, and my heart breaks for the pain he’s endured. I hold him, the hard wooden tub between us, but my arms wrapped securely around him as he finishes.
