Daughter of the Night

My eyes slid open when the last rays of sunlight receded from the sky. The awful weight on my body lightened, my mind cleared. I rose from my earthen grave and exited the abandoned the warehouse, my energy restored and my optimism renewed.

It had been a month since the incident with the boy. Since then, my life had trickled by at its usual speed. Nothing particularly fascinating had happened; I had fed twice more, once fairly recently, so I had good control for tonight.

I rose suddenly from the basement door, looking to most bystanders like I had materialized from the ground. New Yorkers glanced at me, startled, before returning to chatting on their cell phones or pagers or whatever they were doing. That’s one thing I loved about this city; the people never spooked.

The glow from the sky made me turn my face upwards to see the beautiful wholeness of a full moon. It dipped the sky purple and shed a faint glow upon everything it touched. I let out a groan. The werewolves would be out tonight.

I hated werewolves almost as much as I hated other vampires. While wolves traveled in packs, vampires were solitary creatures that made a point on not treading upon another vampire’s territory. Of course, I wasn’t the only vampire in the city, so these collisions were often inevitable.

Werewolves, unlike the rumors, can take on their wolf form at any time of day, although the length of time they can hold their wolf form depends on the strength of the moon. At the full moon, their power is strongest.

Since werewolves hate vampires as much as vampires hate werewolves, they take it upon themselves to make sure that no vampire hunts during the full moon, or else they’d have to contend with a pack of wolves. Although I was confident in a one-on-one fight against a werewolf, or even two or three werewolves, they travel in packs of eight or nine. The advantage lies with them in these scenarios, since vampires never form alliances with one another.

Luckily, I had hunted recently, so I had no need to worry about the wrath of the werewolves. If I played low-key, I might not even have to run into one tonight.

Eagerly, I set off towards the Bronx, my cloak flapping in the wind. Tonight, my goal was the Bronx library. In truth, I had been waiting for this night for months. Every so often, the library would keep its doors open all night for the nocturnal people like me; night students and people who had evening jobs. That was another great thing about this place; the nightlife was lively.

The blocks seemed to blend together as I walked, my dark cloak whipping out behind me. I had to snarl at a few groups of rowdy men to get them to back off, but nothing could ruin my good spirits.

Finally, my endless walking brought me to the entrance of the library. By no means was it an attractive building, yet it was a sanctuary for someone like me. I looked up briefly at the moon before entering through the rotating glass doors.

Once inside, I peered up at the vaulted ceiling and the rows and rows of books that surrounded it. I nodded to the librarians at the front counter, careful not to make eye contact. Although plenty of eccentric people came in during these night shifts, I doubted any of them had red eyes.

I drifted towards the history section. Scanning the tall shelves, I selected three interesting books before locating a comfortable armchair nestled between two rows of bookshelves. I went over to that, carefully set the other two books down, and sat down in the seat.

The book remaining in my hands was on the Progressive era; the other two were about Theodore Roosevelt and World War II. Although I had lived through these time periods as a human, I loved looking back and seeing the whole picture. As a citizen, you can only ever know what they tell you in newspapers and such until long after, when it’s all written down. This was one good thing about being able to look back.

After skimming the introduction, I started the chapter on U.S. imperialism and the fallen reign of Queen Lillioukalani. I sensed a human approaching, but since they were surely here for the books I did nothing except go on to read about the Spanish-American war.

I flipped the page, and the cough came back, louder this time. Annoyed, I immersed myself in General Weyler’s personal background.

The person coughed once more and I looked up through a sheet of my hair in annoyance. The boy from before stood before me. His green eyes were bright against the tanned skin of his face, embellished further by the shining silver eyebrow piercing over his right eye. His hair was ungelled today; it hung straight and shaggy, falling over his eyes. Clad in a brown leather jacket, worn jeans, and grimy sneakers, he was shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Why he was wearing a jacket in July, I had no idea. Of course, I was in a thick black cloak, but vampires aren’t exactly sensitive to the weather.

“Uumm... hey,” he began, smiling nervously at my lack of emotion.

“How did you find me?” I demanded.

“Well...” he shifted a library book from one hand to the other. “I was going home, but then I caught sight of you. I wanted to talk to you, so I followed, but you threw me off when you came here.” He pulled up one corner of his mouth in a wry smile. “I didn’t think you’d like to read, see.”

“And? What do you want?”

He squinted uncertainly. “I wanted to... say thanks, I guess. For saving my life. I never got the oppertunity, seeing as I passed out.”

I watched his face impassively. He was uncomfortable, sure, but I couldn’t sense any fear.

“Leave,” I commanded. “Talking to me is dangerous enough, but you can only cheat death so often.” I could hear his heartbeat, even now, and I could see the rise and fall of his chest...

“You wouldn’t do anything to me,” he stated confidently.

My eyes narrowed dangerously. “And why not?” I asked, so softly he had to bend forward to catch my words.

“Because...” his eyes fell to the book in my hands as he arranged his thoughts. “You saved my life, and you could have killed me, but you didn’t. You’re a good vampire.”

This boy had seen me murder eight hulking men in under eighty seconds, and he saw me drink their blood like the savage I was, and he told me I was a hero? Someone seriously needed to give this boy a healthy dose of fear.

His eyes snapped open as I dropped the book and shoved my face into his quicker than the eye could follow.

“Because I’m good?” I snarled, my eyes snapping with rage. “You saw me kill eight men in a dark alleyway, and then you see me drink their blood and leave them for dead in the dust, and you think I won’t kill you because I’m good?”

I thrust a hand sideways. “I was at their funerals, all eight of them, I saw the pain I inflicted on their family and friends, and you think a monster that causes that kind of devastation is above murdering one more?” To my utmost shame and horror, my voice cracked on the last part.

I brought my hand forward and pointed at his face. He took a step back nervously.

“I didn’t kill them for you, as much as you’d like to think that.” Grabbing his shirtfront, I pulled him forward. Although he went unresistingly, his eyes grew as big as saucers as I supported all his weight with my left hand.

“I thirsted for their blood,” I told him, purposefully letting my eyes drop to his throat. While I wasn’t particularly hungry tonight, I wanted him to get the idea. “You were simply in the way.” I tossed him backwards, and he landed shakily on his feet.

“But... you... You brought me all the way to the hospital!”

“I tried playing hero once,” I said flatly. “It’s an expendable hobby. Now leave.”

I stared him down with my vermilion gaze and watched with a mixture of sorrow and satisfaction as he turned and left. With a sigh, I picked up my book and started reading where I had left off.