Brink

I opened my eyes. And gasped.
Was I dead? I felt like I was. Beneath me was a soft mattress. Over me were brilliantly white and gold covers. Everything around me was white and gold. Wrapped loosely around my body was a light material, it looked like white mesh. The light breeze that passed through it was refreshing. My body didn’t hurt anymore, I notice, like I’d never been hurt in the first place. I took in a deep breath, allowing the light smells of the place invade my nose.
Was this, perhaps, limbo?
It can’t be Heaven. I never saw myself as ending up in that place, what with my nature and such.
Maybe I was in Hell’s waiting line. Maybe this was a mere façade to trick the souls into a false sense of calm, before the gates of fire swallowed them…

Then I smelled something. A growl reflexively permeated at the back of my throat. No. Perhaps I was not dead. But if I smelled right—and I am rarely wrong with smells—then I was soon to be.

A woman, dressed in a similarly white and gold—what do you call that?...a robe?—entered through a door with feline grace. Her clothing, whatever it was, was draped around her like she was a Greek goddess. It was fastened at her shoulder with a golden ring. Her long black hair was pulled away from her face by a series of ribbons and pins. Her face, pale and heart-shaped, glowed in the brilliance of the room. Her eyes, bright blue, and her full cherry lips smiled at me pleasantly.
I wanted to smile back—but, no! She was the one I smelled. She was my death.
My hands clenched to fists.

“Calm yourself, young one,” she said, in a rich velvety voice. She approached me slowly. “I know what you think I am, and what you think I intend to do.”

“Am I wrong?” I snarled, finding courage to say something.

Her lips curved into a beautiful smile.

“You are right,” she nodded. “But only on one point: I am a vampire. But I assure you, that I have no intention to…kill you.” She hesitated at the term, as though unsure she should use it.

It was a bit foolish to believe immediately, I know, but if you were like me, it was easy to detect liars. Even if they were ancient, undead creatures with a lot of time to practice. I nodded slowly.

“Now,” she said in her luxurious voice. “I suppose you’re famished. I imagine healing your body on your own overnight would take a lot from you.”

In reply, my stomach rumbled. I felt myself blush. What was going on? Why was a vampire…fraternizing with someone like me? We should be at each other’s throats right now—or, in my case, she would already be wiping my blood off her hands with her beautiful robe by now. What was she doing?

She moved with feline grace towards a table on one corner of the room. With her pale hands—I noticed several golden rings glistening around her wrist—she took from the table a silver tray. I could smell what it was right away. The scent of a full course meal comprising mostly of meat was scintillating to my sensitive nose, and exciting to my empty stomach. I fought back the urge to salivate.

I ate with…as much etiquette as I could…but I still couldn’t keep myself from using my hands as utensils. My teeth shredded the meat off a turkey leg, and I nibbled on the bone before moving to the next. In seconds, I had finished an hour’s worth of food. Forgetting my host, I belched. I felt my face heat up in embarrassment.
But she merely laughed and ruffled playfully at my hair with her cold hand. My blush deepened.
She whisked away the tray of bones and returned with a basin and a hand towel. Despite my protestations, she insisted that she clean my face. I relented with my face feeling hotter than before. I wasn’t used to being babied—except perhaps by Victoria, but that had become a rare thing to happen when I turned twelve.

While the hand towel, soaked with lukewarm water, brushed against my greasy and grubby face, my mind wandered back to my questions as to the intentions of this woman. Why was she going this far to entertain a…a werewolf like me? Did she have some ulterior motive perhaps? Maybe to lead me to a false sense of peace and then gut me while I wasn’t looking?
My thoughts must have shown in my face, for she cupped a cold hand on my chin and gently pushed my face up. Her face was several inches from hers. The coppery stench of blood emanating from her made me flinch.

“What’s on your mind, young one?” she asked with sincere curiosity.

I felt compelled to reply with equal sincerity, so I asked her the question that bugged me since she smiled at me.

She nodded once, her face passive. Her hand trailed down to mine, and she held it gently. It was icy, but I allowed her hand to stay.

“I…had a son,” she whispered, “He would be your age by now…”

“Had?” I asked shocked at what it implied.

“He’s dead now,” she said, confirming my thoughts.

“What happened?” I asked, feeling slightly uncomfortable for having brought up such a painful subject.

“I happened,” she smiled at my sadly. With her other hand, she stroked the side of her neck. I saw a crescent of puncture wounds tainting her perfect skin. Then I understood.

“I had quite literally lost my mind that night,” she said in a sad whisper. “I didn’t know what was going on around me. All I knew was that I was hungry…and I needed to feed.” A tear, pure and glistening, slid down her left eye, followed by another from her right. With a graceful movement from her free hand, she brushed off the tears from her face.

“When my hunger was sated, I stared in horror at what I’d done,” she said, “My baby…bloodied in my hands…drained of life…”

My hand wrapped around hers involuntarily, squeezing it comfortingly.

“I knew what I had to do to save him from the same fate as mine…” she said, “So I did…”
She looked at me, a wet smile on her face. It was a heartbreaking expression. With my free hand, I reached out and brushed the fresh tears from her face. She held it lightly in place, kissing my palm.

“When I saw you back there…” she whispered, “I thought of my son…and how I, as a mother, had failed to protect him from myself…from what I’ve become…”

I smiled at her weakly.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice breaking, “If you had not been there…I would be dead…”

She closed her eyes, relishing the words that escaped my mouth. When she reopened them, her brilliance was renewed. She smiled better now.

“Well, then,” she said, “Might I ask you something in turn?”

I nodded, gladdened by the return of her beautiful smile.

“What is a pup like you doing in bat country?” she asked, tapping at my nose.

My answer came out of my mouth before I even thought of saying it:

“I’m looking for my real parents, you see.”

“Real parents?” she seemed bewildered by the combination of those words.

I nodded. “I was adopted when I was a month old,” I said, “Now I’m looking for any clue about my biological parents.”

She was listening intently. I almost smiled at that.

“I was adopted in an orphanage here,” I continued, “Obviously it was before this place was claimed by your kind. I had hoped I might find some records there…”

“What orphanage would that be, dear?”

I told her the name. She nodded her face thoughtful.

“I wonder,” she said carefully, “Would it be all right if I volunteer to come with you?”

That surprised me, although with everything she’s already done, I shouldn’t have been.

“Well, I don’t mean to impose upon my burden…” I resisted weakly.

She smiled. “I insist upon it,” she said. “Besides, you need someone from our kind to be able to roam the city at any time of the day…”

My nod brought another beautiful smile on her face.

Then I realized something off:

“I never caught your name…” I said.

She held out her golden ringed hand. I shook it as she said:

“Lamia Empusa.”

I shook her hand back, and pronounced the words that Thomas and Victoria had given me:

“Fenryr Wulver.”

I stood before that door again. The words Hemmingway Adoption Home precariously positioned just above my head. It was exactly like the last time. It was in the afternoon. The damp coldness that bit my skin even when I wore a jacket was still there. The creak of the door, the squeal of rusting metal formed the eerie rhythm again. The only thing different was the absence of my fears; the absence of the pell-mell of thoughts in my head. I was calmer, more collected. Perhaps it was because it was already the second time. Perhaps I’d grown more mature after the incident that night. Or perhaps, it was the hand that held mine. Her touch was still cold, but it was comforting to me. I looked up at her, standing right beside me, in her white and gold robe, her pale skin glowing in the dying light.

“Here we go,” I muttered, raising my fist towards the damp wooden door.

She looked back at me, and smiled her beautiful smile.