Masquerade

When Jameson wakes Delilah hands him a glass of warm blood. She studies him as he drinks greedily, and when he’s finished she’s ready for his questions. But first she gathers him into her arms and squeezes him tight, an embrace that would likely crush the bones of a human, pop their internal organs.

“Where are we?” he inquires.

“Your guest bedroom, my father kindly agreed to us staying here.”

Jameson bolts from the bed and she watches as he rubs his face, tugs at the hair falling across his forehead. Before she can speak again, a light knock sounds at the door and her father’s trusty butler enters the large bedroom.

“Your father would like to see you now, Delilah. Jameson I trust I can find something for you to do.”

Delilah hurries to her father’s study, slipping quietly inside. He glances up from the computer on his wooden desk, his fingers pausing on the keyboard. It’s a strange sight to see him working with something other than parchment and quills. She seats herself in the small chair across from him, her thin legs crossing easily in the cotton pants he loaned her.

“You want to get to the city of angels then, do you?” he rumbles.

She nods, leaning forward. “I want to avenge my murder, father.”

A soft smile spreads his lips, and he ignores the computer completely now. There’s a kindness in his eyes that she remembers from earlier days, and she’s quite shocked it hasn’t turned into bitter hate and rage yet.

“You would be avenging both of our murders, my dear.” He replies quietly.

Shock reverberates through her. He had delayed telling her how his being down here came to be ever since Jameson and she arrived a day ago. She thought maybe he was a suicide case, an angry vengeful soul. She didn’t think he was anything too supernatural like herself or Jameson.

“So you’re vampire,” it’s a statement, not a question.

Her father nods slowly. “And I ventured to the city of angels before myself.”

“What did you find?”

“I found exactly what everyone has told you that you’ll find,” he stands quickly, hurries to the bookshelf across the room. While he searches, he speaks. “The angels there are cruel. They will taunt you and trick you, and they will test you. If you fail they will try and kill you.”

“But obviously you failed because you’re still down here. So how did they not kill you?”

“I was too quick for them, and I knew a few tricks; there aren’t not a lot of things that can harm or even kill an angel,”

“You figured those things though, didn’t you? You discovered them before you went.”

“And I refuse to share them with more than the select few I have, but for you I will make an exception. You are after all my daughter, and to turn you away in such a quest as to avenge our deaths…well that would be idiotic.”

He carries a book to her then, sets it heavily on the desk. “You’ll have to forgive me, it has been years since I taught these tricks, and I need a reference. It’s important that you learn them right.”

“Won’t you come with me?” Delilah asks, a sudden thought striking her. “We can avenge our deaths together.”

A chuckle escapes his cracked lips. “We may not age physically Delilah, but we certainly age emotionally. I wouldn’t be able to handle the trickery, the taunts.”

“I understand,” she whispers softly, her hands fidgeting in her lap.

“Let us begin then, shall we?”

They study the book for hours, each taking turns quizzing each other. When one would get frustrated the other would murmur soft calming words until they were on equal planes of thought and relaxation once more. By the time dusk nears she knows how to ignore the taunts of the angels. Much to her displeasure her father informs there is at least an entire days left of knowledge to learn before she can head out.

When Delilah collapses onto the couch in the sitting room, her feet propped on the coffee table and a fire going in the fireplace, Jameson approaches. There’s a satisfied grin on his face and his bones are practically humming when he sits beside her.

“Did you learn everything you needed to?” he asks, his arm draped lazily on the top of the couch behind her.

“I learned some, but there’s still more to learn tomorrow.”

“Like what? Tell me what you learned.” He says, his thigh bumping hers.

“Well for one, they can read your thoughts and intentions and see into your immediate future, but its limited, you have to be looking into their eyes for it to work. My father says it is one of the first tricks they use on you when you enter the city. Secondly, they’re very manipulative and stronger than your average witch. They can bewitch you to do things and say things and tell the truth. This is where you come into play.”

Jameson’s playful knee bumping stops and he gives her a guarded, narrow look. “I told you I’m going no further than this city. Your dad even made arrangements for me to live here with him. I figure why not, I can protect him with my magic and he can give me a bed to die in every night.”

“You don’t have to go with me; you simply have to make a potion.” Delilah assures him, handing over a crumpled piece of paper. It’s yellow on the edges, browning with age.

She watches his icy eyes read the words; his pink lips turn into an uncertain frown. “I don’t know if I can do this. For one, I wouldn’t even know where to begin with finding the ingredients.”

“Worry not my boy, the kitchen is stocked with every ingredient you could ever make. You can begin tomorrow while Delilah and I study, for now you two must relax in the last hours before the sun falls. Enjoy yourselves.”

They’re both startled at her father’s passing voice but it is quickly forgotten when Jameson lays into Delilah, all serious face and angry eyes. “You’re sure you want to go through with this?”

“I would be letting not only myself down but my father as well if I backed down now.”

“The only reason I ask is because I’m not entirely sure you understand what you’re getting yourself into.” He replies with furrowed brows. “Do you? Realize what you’re getting yourself into, I mean?”

“You act like I’m a child that doesn’t retain information. My father explained everything to me and has yet to explain more tomorrow. I’m confident in my abilities Jameson and it’s a shame that you aren’t.”

“No, Delilah, it’s not that I’m not confident in your abilities. I believe in you, I do, I just feel like you aren’t ready. I feel it’s going to take more than two days of studying and centuries of loathing to achieve this goal you’re striving for.”

She stands from the couch, ready to walk away from this conversation and this man who has been her companion for quite some time. A few couple words halt her feet, still her hand on the stair banister.

“I don’t want you hurt, dead rather, because I love you.”

After a heavy pause she turns towards him, keeping the wide space between them. Her face is hard and suspicious and her words are like sharp daggers. “You don’t love me, the only reason you’re saying that is because you want desperately for me to love you. There’s this fucked up belief in your head that if I love you I won’t leave,”

Delilah turns back towards the stairs, hurls her last words blindly behind her. “But I’ll never, ever love you Jameson.”

In her room she sits with her head cradled in her hands, thinking of the cruel lies she had to spew at him. It was for both of their sakes. This is something she has been striving for all her life and she would never be able to live with herself if she let something like love stand in the way. And him, well, he really shouldn’t love her. It’s not like he doesn’t know her plan, doesn’t know that she will kill herself happily when her murderers are dead.

Not even knowing her father is undead, in physical mass, will keep her from following through with this plan. What kind of person would she be to turn back on her word and promise to herself? A knock sounds on her door but even when she mutters a rude go away the door creaks open. The butler eyes her with sadness in his eyes.

“Master Jameson has told me that he’ll complete the potion for you tonight and that he wishes you well on your journey.”

“What?” she snaps, bewildered. “Where is he going?”

“He has informed your father that he has plans to go elsewhere, that his stay here will not be prolonged anymore.”

“Has he left yet?” she demands shoving past the old man and hurrying down the stairs.

The butler’s murmured reply doesn’t reach her ears until she sees the lone vial sitting on the table in the foyer.