Page 36 of Vampires of Eden
We’re up, dressed and out of the cottage just as the sun rises on Saturday. Thankfully, Leoni had help from volunteers the previous week with loading the van. Everything that we need for today—the wine crates and taste glasses, tables and marketing materials—is ready to go.
Generally, I accept my circumstances. Especially because beating myself up for being incapacitated helps nothing—least of all my mental and emotional health.
Acceptance doesn’t prevent me from being frustrated at times, though. Like with loading the van. And with unloading the furniture at Kathryn and Roland’s house.
Since I frequent the same intimate circles, my community ofvampires are well acquainted with my limitations. They don’t expect me to contribute when it comes to lifting heavier objects, or exerting too much energy with manual labor. It wears me out and I’ll experience agonizing muscle spasms the next day as my body attempts to regenerate (but inevitably fails because of my condition).
When Alexander asked me to carry the mattress, he didn’t fully comprehend my restrictions. Now that he’s seen me collapse onto the ground in a flustered heap, though, he undoubtedly understands.
Still, if I’m honest, it felt good to try. Plus, he was surprisingly patient. He took on the bulk of the weight and was agreeable toward my requests. They were small acquiesces, but it made the task less grueling and we worked together seamlessly. It’s like I was trying to scale a wall for the first time in a long while and I felt well-equipped with the proper support.
I do a lot of weeding and watering at the cottage. Pruning, barrel testing and bottle turning—activities that are significant to the success of the winery, but also calming. Discreet and detail oriented. These are the tasks that my body can handle.
Carrying a mattress up a flight of stairs and activating rarely used muscles felt like another pointed change in my established routine.
After years of dormancy, I feel myself being challenged. Not just physically. Mentally and emotionally as well.
It’s jarring, but I don’t hate it.
When we arrive in Seze, the morning sun is still low in the sky. A hazy and cold mist floats around the cobblestones at our feet. I look around at the squat buildings on either side of us, admiring the colorful tiles peeking out from beneath the heavy carpet of ivy leaves draping the red brick.
The celebrated tiled artwork of Seze casually lines multiple window ledges on some structures, but then on others, the tiles are craftily arranged in intricate murals in the shapes of faces, flowers or even landscapes. A fiery sunset in red, orange,pink and gold. The moon in a dark sky and hovering over a blue-ombre tiled sea.
A famous purebred artist named Antonio Luis Vázquez is responsible for these tiles. He was one of the early immigrants from Spain to Eden and his work is a signature feature of Seze. His vision graces every single structure in the small town, like glassy flecks of candy.
“Buenos dias!” Out of the van, Leoni stalks off, already schmoozing with other merchants as everyone sets up their stalls. When she speaks Spanish, I can understand every word she says, but I can’t produce it at all. I don’t know why. It’s how my brain is wired. Or not wired? I speak Cantonese fluently because of my mothers, but that and English are all I’ve got.
My plan today is to hang out in the background and keep the booth stocked while she and Alexander use their language prowess and purebred savoir faire to interact with the customers…
Two upper-crust purebred vampires running a wine booth in Seze—way out in the Eden countryside, mind you—andservingthe locals. Talking to them.
Wow.
What strange, inverted universe have I fallen into? I wonder if Prince Alexander’s parents know that he does these things. Renovation projects at safe houses for ranked vampires and weekend farmers’ markets in the countryside. Do they approve of these activities?
I’m standing at the van with the back door open when my attention is naturally pulled in the direction of a little black sports car parking on the gravel of the lot that’s just a short walk from our stall.
Alexander pops out of the car like an efficient vampire on a mission. Within seconds, he spots me from across the distance. He freezes, hesitating in his brown bomber jacket the color of rich mahogany. It makes the pristine white of his cable-knit sweater and the golden blonde of his hair radiate in juxtaposition. Lightjeans don his long legs and his sneakers are cute, too. Some black, white and tan combination with brown laces.
The vampire can dress, I’ll give him that.
He sees me, but he’s looking for Leoni—the “safe” vampire in this scenario. The one who invited him and the one he trusts. But she’s off chatting with another vendor.
Attempting to be “nice,” I lift a hand in what I hope is a friendly gesture. “Come over here, pretty boy,” I say under my breath. “I won’t bite.” Seriously? Have I shaken him this much? I apologized already—me, apologizing to a fucking purebred. What more does he want?
He runs a hand through the floppy, healthy swoop of his hair, breaking eye contact with me before reluctantly walking over. When he’s finally within earshot, I offer a polite smile. “Good morning.”
“Hey—Good morning. Where is Leoni?”
I turn, pointing. “She’s over there, running her mouth, but we need to get these tables set up. Will you help, please?”
“Sure,” he says, stepping up beside me and taking in the neatly packed contents of the van. The tables, crates and other knickknacks are arranged like large pieces of a puzzle.
He leans, wrapping his fingers along the edge of one of the folded tables and testing it. Every time he moves, the lightest whiff of his essence fans outward and over me. It was the same way when we worked in the bathroom together. I can’t pin-point the nature and composition of it, but it smells citrusy. For the second time, I also notice the pair of golden bands wrapped around the ring finger of his right hand.
“I can carry the tables over,” he says, still examining the inside of the van. “Are you comfortable with pulling the legs out and setting them upright?”
“Yes,” I say. “I can certainly handle that.”
